The Shopkeeper's Wife
by msyendor
Summary: Revyn Sadri, pawnshop owner, Grey Quarters, Windhelm. He'd made a quiet, modest living selling second-hand goods until he'd married an adventurous spellsword with a nose for treasure. Now his life is a constant struggle emptying his wife's junk drawers and finding ways to bury the dragonbones.
1. 01 Windhelm Justice

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs etc. Chapters not in chronological order.

\- WINDHELM JUSTICE -

"Your wife, where is she?"

Revyn Sadri blinked, taken aback by Brunwulf Free-Winter's uncharacteric lack of courtesy. But he heard the urgency and anger behind the question. "I'm sorry, serjo, but she's away on White Phial business. Master Nurelion's last fit of illness finally convinced her that his project needed some priority. She should be back in two or three days. May I ask ..."

"Bandits. They attacked an ore caravan to Windhelm. The Jarl's men arrived in time to salvage the shipments but wagons were damaged and two drivers were left behind to try to track what went missing. Two Khajit boys. They never reported in. The mine owner has appealed to the Jarl but he's refused to investigate the missing Khajit. No manpower to spare, he says."

"Ah," was all Revyn could say.

"I was hoping Helsette was here, that she could speak with Hagrid, the mine owner, before he leaves Kynesgrove."

"The inn at Kynesgrove?"

"Aye. Couldn't stomach staying in Windhelm after the Jarl refused his appeal for aid."

"I see. Yes, perhaps I'll speak with him, collect information for my wife should she not make it back before he has to leave."

"I'd appreciate that, Revyn. As usual, if she takes this on and brings justice to those scum, I'll see she's rewarded."

"You're too kind, serjo, as usual."

Hagrid Icebear was an old Nord gone thin and bent after a lifetime of heavy work. Years curled his hands into stiff claws and there was a shadow of pain in every movement. "Kittens, barely ten years when I found 'em curled under the wrecks of their family's wagons. Bandits, y'know. More bloody, bedamned bandits. J'Rone and Jain. When my sons left to join the Stormcloaks, my cat sons insisted on staying to help me keep the family business going. This season they were to learn transporting goods and dealing with buyers. I'd left before them to wait in Windhelm where I was to teach 'em how to deal with hostile buyers and clients. Then I'd gotten the pidgeon telling me the caravans were getting hit by bandits. Oh, the Jarl was fast enough to send troops, but some of the wagons had taken damage and had to be left behind. The loads were redistributed but I was told there weren't enough men to leave behind to guard empty wagons. Other, lighter goods the bandits had taken but the soldiers didn't want to go after those so my sons took it upon themselves to track the bandits. Soldiers let 'em. Khajits were naturals at sneaking to survive, they said. When they never showed up, Stormcloaks told me they most likely ran off to find other easier work. Maybe even joining the bandits themselves."

As the old Nord talked he idly played with a Khajit-style bracelet made of fanciful twists of dyed leather cords interwoven with beads of polished stone, carved wood, and nuggets of gold. Revyn also noted two small combs tucked into the Nord's gray hair. Tiny wood combs from which hung tiny strips of beads and long, silky hairs of striped gray and black. Mane hairs Kjajit males sometimes gave as tokens of love and respect to older family males. Although no expert on Khajit jewelry and ornaments, Revyn thought them of very high quality that sadly wouldn't sell for the price they deserved in this part of Skyrim.

And if such jewelry walked into his shop a week later, well, even he wouldn't buy for fair price, especially not to such a smelly, scruffy specimen who was selling. The Nord wasn't one of the usual Nord customers who deign to walk the Gray Quarter to get to his shop. But then, non-Dunmer found in the Grey Quarter weren't usually the wealthy, respectable Nords. This Nord was dressed in a random mix of cobbled together armor. There was the smell beyond bad personal hygiene that came from poorly tanned furs and belt still sporting the silky grays and black of the unwilling donors.

"A nasty cough you have there," said Revyn with a hopeful, friendly smile. "I do sell some health potions. Not as expensive as you'll find from the White Phial because my wife makes them and she's self taught. She supplies a great deal of base ingredients to the White Phial though. Master Nurelion say's if she weren't so flighty she has the potential to be a decent alchemist." The Nord merely grunted and Revyn smiled again as he sorted through the other items for sale - more random jewelry, armor pieces, small weapons, waggoneer and mining tools, and some clothes, purses, and bags in fair condition. The stuff had been rough cleaned but Revyn had, thanks to his wife, become an expert at spotting blood, recognizing degrees of freshness, and grave goods.

A regular came in, one of the city guards coughing in much the same manner as the other Nord who had slunk into the shadows at seeing a guard uniform.

"All the health potions you've got. Whole damn barrack's catching this damn cough."

"I've only 13 in stock that are ready for selling. My dear wife is adventuring and Azura only knows when she'll be back or if she'll even have time or supplies to brew more.

"I'll take 'em. White Phial's too damn expensive for mere guards." As soon as the guard had the lot, he popped a bottle open and took a mouthful. "Gah! No matter who makes it, still tastes like sewage."

"Try dumping the rest into a keg of sujamma or dark beer. I've found that some medicines actually work more effectively when combined with alcohol." The guard left with his bottles and additional purchases of two silver rings with petty enchantments for health.

Revyn went back to sorting the bags of goods for purchase. He then offered to buy the lot at the lowest end of a decent price range. "I can see you're not happy, but I pay steady suppliers more. Still, let's not end this on a bitter note. Here, a couple of health potions that I didn't sell the guard. Now mind you, these are not quite ready for drinking until after 2 or 3 more days of fermenting, but after that, well, as you heard me tell the guard, dump them in some dark beer or ale."

He escorted the Nord out the shop and as the Nord disappeared down the street, Revyn waived to one of the young farmhands linging outside of the New Gnises Cornerclub. "A quick job if you want," he told the boy. "I need you to discreetly follow that Nord there outside the city. Try to stay out of sight though because I suspect he's a robber and will kill you if he sees you. Just follow him as far as Hollyfrost farm to see what direction he heads. If he does spot you, you can always claim you're making a delivery for me. And here, for further help, here are some tools you can show. Should he remark that those are the tools he just sold me, tell him that I had buyers on my waiting list for new tools. Here's half pay for now. Get moving."

The boy returned the next morning, reporting the bandit had headed towards the abandoned building between Hollyfrost and the border outpost and that insane lot of Boethiah cultitsts. Oh, and Tulvar at Hollyfrost appreciated the new tools in return for sheltering him for the night.

Another two days went by. Brunwulf told him there was another raid. Revyn wasn't surprised when the Khajit pelt wearing Nord came by with more goods and a demand for health potions. Weapons and armor of Dunmer make; perfumes, ornaments, and books from Morrowind. Revyn bought the lot, paying a better price to the happy Nord, and warning him that the new batch of potions, though strong, were still experimental mixtures and harsher tasting. He sold them along with a keg of flin which he promised would mask the taste and had higher alcohol than beer. As the Nord left, Revyn said by way of goodbye, "Boethiah inspire you."

"Who?"

"Boethiah. She's, well, you could say our Daedric prince of battles."

A two days later the guards were talking about the reports from Hollyfrost farm. Hillevi Cruel-Sea had been up at the farm to pay Tulvar and collect the produce for the marketstall when she heard ungodly yelling and screaming from off in the distance. She'd called out the guards, afraid there might be bandits or Imperial troops settling in. Guards found dead bandits. Seems they had a falling out and butchered each other. And it must have been quite a quarrel by the way the bodies were shredded. Or maybe they said some nasty words to those insane cultists in which case they got what they deserved. On a bright note, there was enough evidence to mark them as the lot who'd been robbing Dunmer travelers and Khajit caravans. The guards questioned the proprietor of Sadri's Used Wares after finding potion bottles with his shop's seal on them. The proprietor merely remarked that he didn't question the origins or intents of his customers. As for what was in those bottles? Well, with all the illnesses this season, as they well knew, health potions were in short supply and one of his best selling items.

Helsette finally came back from her mission to find Master Nurelion's legendary White Phial. The mission was a bust though because the artifact was already broken when she found it. She also brought in a haul of Dwemer artifacts, which was the reason why it took her so long to return because she had taken some time after finding the broken phial to explore a nearby ruin. As she was rummaging around in the bedroom, she said, "Revyn, dear, what happened to all the potions in the chest? I hope you didn't use them. The new formula ..."

"I'm sorry, beloved. I know they were meant to be health potions but they smelled funny and I took them to Master Nurelion to test. He said that some of the new ingredients did enhance healing but also caused bad side effects of excitability and paranoia. 'All you would get is a screaming, murdering maniac that would be damn hard to kill because his health would be regenerating like a troll's.' Sorry. His words. I had to, um, toss the lot."

"Oh."

"Don't feel bad, beloved. Master Nurelion said the formula has potential once you find out what caused the frenzy side effects. Now here's your soup, eat up, and get some rest."


	2. 02 Homeward Bound

_What's Bethesda' is theirs, etc. Stories not in chronological order._

 _Fluff from wifey's POV. Inspired by a YouTube video recommended to me. Lookup Peter Hollens and "Homeward Bound."_

\- HOMEWARD BOUND -

It was just after midnight. He would be asleep by now. The streets were quiet and in the alleys they knew to scuttle back into the shadows when they saw the soft gleam of chitin armor under the light of the moons. One or two soft, "Hail, Armiger," from passing shadowy forms.

My key still worked and I felt marginally better. He'd had every right to change the lock after the way I'd abandoned him just days after our wedding.

The shop's heavy door swung open but was suddenly checked after only an inch. An obstruction on the floor. No, in the floor. A second security measure of a short iron posts sunk into the floor. So he'd taken my suggestion and put it in place.

I rapped sharply against the door with my dagger hilt and called, "Revyn ..."

"Coming, love." I closed the door. No sense in letting the cold leech what warmth there was in the shop. Revyn didn't keep me waiting long. I slipped quickly in and dropped my heavy pack on the floor.

As soon as he had put the security post back in place I said, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be gone so long. And I was utterly selfish and thoughtless for not sending you a letter."

He didn't answer at once but gestured for me to follow him to the side room that was his living area. Our living area, if he was still willing.

"So long as you come back," he said at last. "That's all I care about right now. I expect that when I eventually remember to be mad, you'll have left on another quest."

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Good. But it can't be helped. I married the Dragonborn. I knew what I was buying into and the hidden fees of our marriage contract." He caught my hand and pulled me close for a light kiss on the lips and then turned me towards a corner of the room. "The water in that urn over there is kept hot. I paid a pretty drake for the fire runes etched into its clay. While you wash up, I'll set up a light dinner for you."

* * * * *

Revyn was still sleeping when I awoke which suited me fine. I tighed my embrace and nuzzled against his neck to feel his pulse against my lips. He smelled of the oils and soaps he used to clean the stock and store. The bed was really too small for both of us but after so many cold nights alone on the open road or on inn beds that stank of so many other tired bodies it was perfect for now.

He probably should be awakening by now to have breakfast and get his shop ready for business but the poor old dear had exhausted himself seeing to my selfish needs. While running lips and tongue over temple and along an ear I wondered not for the first time what had drawn me to a man who had a decade for every year that I'd lived. I'd had interest from plenty of young, intelligent, handsome ones - Nords mostly who didn't seem to mind me being a mer, and plenty of Dunmer men too. But for some reason a particular shopkeeper's professional greet-a-customer smile caught my attention. His light, buttery smooth voice lingered so that I recognized it later that night among the patrons of the New Gnisis Corner Club that had gathered to hear me sing. My ears tuned automatically to him and I heard him mildly insulting my accent as he spoke with Ambarys, the Club's owner. I shifted to Dunmaris and imitated the accent of my maternal grandmother. Flawless high court Hlaalu he told me later.

I went bandit hunting and when I came back I went first to his shop. He gave me a good price and some good advice on dealing with the local Nords when I'd complained about the attitude of the nobles at the palace when I'd went to collect my bounty. He'd lived in Windhelm at least fifty of the near two hundred years in Skyrim and had witnessed the growing hostility as the immigrant population increased. Yet he stayed, waiting for family that had never shown up.

At a third visit he was stressed and his remarks about the legitimacy of his stock was suspicious. A little prodding and he confessed to accidentally buying stolen goods. I couldn't help but smirk at the haul I'd brought in for him to buy. Bandit camp stuff, all of it second-hand stolen goods. At the end of it I returned the stolen loot that troubled him - a ring, a locket, a jeweled dagger - stuff.

Eventually he caught on that I was courting him. "I'm old enough to be your grandsire for Azura's sake!" he'd said. "I am not a cradle robber."

"No problem, with all the Nord barrows I've dived into, I've developed a taste for grave robbing."

Mehrunes balls. Mistake. Had to work my tail off to get him to forgive me and convince him I was serious.

Strange. How strange it was that an old elf who'd lived over half his life in the bitter ice of Skyrim had taught me a lesson in fire better than the old dragon who'd mentored Man in the Voice before recorded time.

Our wedding day had been a disaster. Enemies had shown up, mages and armored thugs. Sword and shield while the priests had pushed guests out of the temple. The mages formed an ice attack. I drew breath to counter with dragon fire. But a smarter thug had grabbed Revyn for a shield and now shoved him in front as I shouted.

He deflected it. He deflected it with an astonishing intense summoning of the Ancestor's Wrath, an inborn sense of fire magic all Dunmer - I'm told but never believed - were born with. He flamed like a master destruction mage and it was a cloak that absorbed and dispersed the worst of my shout while setting fire to the thugs and mages around him. It was the first time I'd sensed the depth of his untapped, untrained magic that he'd happily left dormant in favor of the merchanter's games.

The priests returned with a water brigade to douse the fires in the temple. They kicked us out. Even if I swore to pay for all repairs, I doubted they'd let us back in to comlete our vows. But Revyn dragged me over to Balimund's forge and told me he'd a mind to use the ceremony from the Ashlander side of his family. He wasn't too concerned about the Mara ceremony because the Aedra, Mara, had never been a god of the Dunmer anyway. He'd been indulging me because I'd been raised Imperial with the Imperial/Altmer pantheon of the Eight Divines.

The Chimer foreswore the Aedra to worship the Daedra Boethiah, Mephala, and Azura. And when Chimer became Dunmer who worshipped the Almsivi Tribunal, his side of the family kept to Ashlander beliefs and paid lip service to the Tribunal; marriage ceremony was according to the peculiar custom of his mother's offshoot Zainab tribe. We pledge ourselves over a bed of coals, he explained, and if we trust each other to combine our inner lights, we'll walk that fire through.

It was crazy. Fact was, I'd never used Ancester's Wrath in my life. Mother had tried to teach me how to tap into it but I'd never succeeded. I had to rely on the standard protection spells other races used with fire magic.

No spells, he told me, trust me and so I jumped unhesitating onto the forge with him. The thick soles of my leather boots were cracking when he commanded me to Shout. And even before I'd exhaled the first word he covered my mouth with his, his tongue thrusting deep, demanding.

Yet all I could feel was the fires burning through my boots. Then I heard his deep groan of desire tangled with agony as he desperately sought to ignite something within me before he fainted from pain.

"Did you choose him just to warm your bed or do you choose him to share your life?" a stern voice asked in my head. Female. Familiar, yet one I'd never heard before. "Destroy him; push him away and off the coals. Or save him; embrace him and join your fire to his."

"Call upon your blood, your ancestors," my mother's voice now whispered. "But, mother, who are my ancestors beyond you and grandmother?" "I truthfully don't know, sweetheart, but somehow I believe they watch over me, and they've always answered me even when I don't know their names."

I saw my grandmother's face and I called to the shadows that somehow I could see standing behind her. They came, brushing away the multitude of memories of my father's Imperial clan and even shoving my dragon soul aside. I'd done it; I tapped a power I'd never knew was in me. Nameless, faceless ancestors roared and the world burned bright and jumped the break between me and my chosen mate.

Then icy, filthy cold broke us apart. Buckets of stinking canal water were being flung at us by Riften people and guards frantically putting out the fires that had sprung about the smithy. Balimund was standing back, laughing, as were the Windhelm Dunmer and Nords who had come with Revyn in the groom's party.

Guards roughly pulled us apart and off the forge, wrapping us in burlap bags commandeered from Balimund. Seems our clothes didn't survive the flames. We were charged with public indecency, property damage, and public endangerment. Wedding night was separate jail cells and the next morning the Jarl ruled that henceforth we were never to visit the city at the same time.

Our first time together was on the way back to Windhelm on a bedroll out of earshot of the rest of the traveling party. But a courier found us the morning after and I left.

* * * * *

Revyn woke around noontime. I had a bath ready for him and a meal when he was done. While he ate I told him of what I'd been doing after our wedding.

"Dragons, draugrs, and Foresworn. Busy girl. Any other business in the Reach that you'll get involved in?"

"Um, finding a daedra heart for a blacksmith and maybe helping a Dwemer researcher find a missing expedition. Um, here's some of his books if you're interested. I read them on the way back. Interesting stuff."

Revyn glanced at the books. "Calcelmo. Hm, yes, I think I've seen his books pass through here before." He found the paper I'd left in one of the books and read it. "You got me a silver mine?"

"Wedding present. Hope you like it. It's a silent partnership in one. Sanuarach Mine is owned by Ainethach, a full-blood Reach man, landed, and one of the few independent operators left after Ulfric's romp in the Reach to dethrone Madanach. The local Nord bullies were trying to force him to sell. I helped out and made a deal to be silent partner and protector. I told him you could help him get better prices for his silver than what the Silver-Bloods dictate. The Silver-Bloods -"

"I know who they are. Ulfric's strongest allies and pet butchers in Markarth and sure to take over if Jarl Ingmund falls. But from this side of Skyrim," Revyn said incredulously, "how could I possibly be of any help?"

"You know people," I urged. "Look, I've been in those mines. It's rich. The only reason the Silver-Bloods haven't yet put an assassin's contract on him is that for now he's protected by Jarl Ingmund who only protects him because he was a friend of the Jarl's late father. But the Jarl is no friend of the Reach people because of the Foresworn, and he has the other problem with the Silver-Bloods doing everthing they can to undermine him. The Jarl counters Silver-Blood money by allowing the Thalmor to house their head Justicier in Skyrim in the palace. Sooner or later Ainethach's luck will run out unless he has the resources to buy protection. He ..."

Something in Revyn's expression shut me up. He leaned forward, expression intent, and studied me like he would study some mystery bauble I'd just hauled in from some Dwemer ruin.

"When do you plan on heading back there?" He asked finally. He gathered the dishes and rose to dump them into the washing bin.

"Um, maybe in a week or so. Revyn ..."

"Steward Jorlief wants you to track some robbers that Stormcloak patrols are failing to catch. Then there's a note from someone in Riverwood who's asking for your help with a mine you previously cleared out. The robbers you can probably handle first. The Riverwood actually came earlier, but I'd told them if you weren't by last week - which you obviously weren't - they should probably contact the Companions in Whiterun. Still, you might want to check with them as you head back west. By the time you leave finally, I'll have a letter you can deliver to our partner." I sighed with relief, happy yet guilty for dumping this problem on him. "If he's not adverse to working with the East Empire Company, I might have some ideas. No promises mind you. I'll have to run some ideas by Orthos first, if I can get his attention off of his problems with pirates that is."

"Revyn ..."

He continued on as if I hadn't spoken, busying himself with washing dishes and putting food back in the larder. When I made move to help him, his stern look had me planting my butt back in my chair. "When you left me, I went on a pilgrimage to Azura's Shrine in Winterhold. I'd helped with mining and hauling the rocks for it when I was younger and had fled to Skyrim along with other believers who were warned by the Lady to get out before Baar Dua destroyed Vvardenfell and Red Mountain erupted. I went to offer prayers there for your safety and to beg guidance for my own part. I spoke with Azura's Mouth, Ienith." He returned to the table and sat. His gaze was unnervingly calm and steady. "I was told the Dragonborn may be an agent of the Aedra, but the Daedra also lose if Akatosh's firstborn destroys Nirn. She had forseen the possiblity that the Dragonborn was going to be Dunmer and weaved her web accordingly. Well, here you are. You were born Dunmer and you could've made better matches but for some reason you chose me.

"But put aside the fact that you are the Dragonborn." He said sternly, leaning forward now. "What mattered most of all the words she said, Azura told me that by choosing me as your first true mate, you chose a path to power that was more than mere force of arms."

"What -"

Again he went on. "Point is, she called me your 'true mate.' I've been wondering about that term. I love you more than I could ever imagine possible. I'll support you any way I can. I believe I mentioned last night that I knew the bargain I was getting into when I married a hero, an Armiger. I knew that when adventure calls, you'd be running off. I wondered if it was my destiny to sit quietly here until you came back. Then when you did, just feed you, give you a willing body for bedding, and give you a good price for the loot you carry back? If that was all, fine. So long as you came back I told myself."

"Revyn!" I lunged across the table to grab his hands so tightly I could feel the bones shifting in my grip. I pulled them tightly against my chest. "I want more than that. I love you, I truly do. Yes, I love adventure, but when the thrill is over, all I think about is seeing you again. I don't understand it myself, you know, but it's your voice I want to hear, your body I want to hold, your mouth I want to taste. I save memories of my adventures because I want to tell them to you and I want to hear your thoughts on them. I want your advice on how to handle people; your suggestions on what I should say next time. When you vowed never to hold me back from my wanderings or chain me to traditional wifely duties, that you'd wait for me, I knew I'd finally found home. A home base. A place where I could come back to to center myself before jumping back into the fight.

"I swear. I'll do what I have to do as a Dragonborn, but however far I must go, however long I must be away to finish a job, I'll always be homeward bound to you."

He kissed me. A long, deep kiss. Old man had quite a strength reserve as he used my grip to pull me across the table onto his lap.

It was near midnight when he was awake again and in the mood to talk business. We were both on the floor beside the firepit. I was on my stomach and he was half on top of me, tracing patterns along my spine.

"Alright, money talks. I'll start seeing how good my network of contacts is. All these years running a pawnshop for travelers, quite a few I've kept contact with and spread all over Skyrim since Windhelm is still a major port. You keep shouting and bringing in the money and I'll do my own whispering in your wake and investing your purse. How does that appeal to your inner dragon? A financial empire I think? I think it would be amusing to start one right in the heart of Windhelm. A bit of revenge for the Nord conquest of Resdayn," he softly whispered in my ear, and then stuck his tongue in it.

I giggled and snugged a hand under his belly and tickled. He groaned and shifted a bit higher so that a more sensitive portion was pressed against my palm.

"I am the great and powerful Dragonborn! Pay no attention to the litte man behind the counter. To all who oppose us - Azura distract you, Mephala blind you, Boethiah strike you," I said, giggling a bit more. "Sounds like fun, love. Maybe I'll find a suitable crown for the emperor's scepter you handed me."

"Easy there. You're not churning butter." He moaned, bucked, and flamed a little bit.

So great to be home.


	3. 03 Overstock

DISCLAIMER - What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories not in chronological order.

* * * OVERSTOCK * * *

 _INVENTORY CLEARANCE SALE this coming Lordas and Fridas only. Prices slashed 20 to 30%. Half off on selected items. No reservations taken. Cash only. All sales final. Magical items verified by the Court Wizard and some items may have additional taxes as required by law. - Sadri's Used Wares -_

Revyn bumped into Niranye as soon as he turned away from the market's posting board. The Altmer woman may have been slight of build but she moved not an inch as Revyn lurched back in surprise and hit the board. "A clearance sale? My, my. Your dear wife must have been busy this last two months."

"Quite busy," Revyn confirmed, moving clear of the board to let people read the latest postings. "She escorted some Winterhold scholars through a Dwemer ruin. While the scholars poked around the machinery, she collected the other stuff while patrolling for hostiles. And since she was working with other like-minded mercs she persuaded them that selling them through me on commission would net them a better payout than trying to sell stuff on their own. Of course, with such an influx of new items I must clear away some of my older stock, hence the sale."

"Two days' notice is scarcely enough time to collect a buying crowd. Why not a week?"

"Because the Jarl saddled me with an overseer to make absolutely sure all taxes are paid, and those were the only days this overseer had time to attend my sale. Or I wait another two months but then Helsette and her friends are hauling in their stuff before the end of next week. And even then, I'll have to shut down a day or two just to inventory, price, and work out commission details with her friends."

"Dwemer items. Hmm. Give me a preview and I might be able to come up with buyers right off the mark."

"Sorry, Niranye. Court Wizard Calcelmo of Markarth, the preeminant scholar on the Dwemer, has already arranged with my wife to get first pickings. He's already enroute and will be arriving mid next week."

"You! Dark Elf."

Revyn's face went blank then a perfectly bland smile appeared as he pivoted to face the Nord sneering at him. "Thane Icewind, how nice to see you. I hope ..."

"I have important business to attend to Lordas and Fridas. You'll have to have your little sale later after I get back. You have your inventory list with you?"

"It's completed but ..."

"Deliver it to my housecarl before the end of the day. And to be clear, elf, you may not sell anything on that list until I get back and I have time to review it."

"But it's my whole shop! Am I to close for ..."

The Nord just walked away.

"Oh, dear. Well, when and if he returns after your court wizard, I'll still have plenty of buyers. I'm sure we can talk them up to a decent price for a whole lot sale."

"Too kind, Niranye, too kind," he said sourly and ripped his flyer off the notice board.

* * * *

"I don't get it. Why are they so worried about being cheated if you decide to have a massive sale?" wondered Ambarys. Revyn had delived his inventory list to Thane Icewind's housecarl and had immediately retired to the Cornerclub to sample the newest sujamma imports from Solstheim.

"With the latest supplies and wage shipment gone missing, they want to make sure I'm not suddenly fencing untold wealth without paying the proper taxes."

"What went missing?"

"I heard some Stormcloaks talking while they were in my store selling pieces of Imperial armor and weapons -"

"Subtle."

"- tell me about it - a supplies and paychest shipment got caught between two bands of robbers having a territory war and the robbers joined forces. Anyway, the Stormcloaks need their gold. I mentioned to them that if they come back later, I might have things I'm willing to sell at a discount because I have new stock coming in. Spread the word. Something got lost - like their sanity - and I was dragged before Stone-Fist to explain my sudden wealth of source material. I explained my wife. Well, they know, thanks to his Unliving lordship, that she's a fantastic enchantress and the profits should be good in spite of discounts."

"Boethiah's spearshaft, Revyn, everybody in Windhelm to Riften knows she's the best in this region outside of Winterhold. Drop the price on any of her discards and it's a killing for you. If it weren't for the fact that these Stormcloaks get ice burrs up their butts about magic, any normal power-mad dictator would've confiscated your stock a long time ago for the war effort."

"Thank you, Ambarys, that's so comforting. Do you know how many sales I've had to close my door on today?"

"The line's still out there."

"See?"

"Oi! Malthyr, go tell the sales hounds Sadri's is suspended by Jarl's order."

"What? Another lot that can't read?"

"Thank you, Malthyr," called Revyn without turning around. "This Thane Icewind," he said to Ambarys, "have you heard anything about him? He was some sellsword from somewhere in Winterhold, was he not? Rescued some Stormcloaks from an Imperial ambush and kept them alive through a particularly bad storm?"

"Heard same. Hates Dunmer because he says he lost friends and a brother to Dunmer necromancers," Ambarys replied.

"Hah!" Ambarys exclaimed, slamming the tankard he'd been polishing to the countertop. "I have it. You're Dunmer. Helsette's an enchantress and everbody knows enchanters need soulstones. And the most powerful enchantments needs soulstones that you can only get from people. So to his mind, your wife's no better than a necromancer. He'll probably find a way to pin an number of thefts on you and hang you for a fence."

"Not cheering me up, Ambarys."

"Excuse me. Revyn Sadri?"

Revyn turned. A Bosmer courier was behind him holding a chest with familiar wards inscribed on it. Wax seals held a folded parchment on top.

Revyn fished an amulet from under his shirt and held it up for the courier to see. The courier studied it, matched the image to a rubbing, then handed the box over. "Now where is this from?" he asked the courier. "You're not a regular around here."

"No, sir. I usually cover the routes between the Rift and Morrowind. I was paid extra to bring this to you directly. Have a good day."

Revyn pried off the note. _Dearest. Was hunting with some friends from Largashbur when we came across a large band of robbers with lots of food, pelts, weapons, and gold bars. I took the gold and the orcs took the rest back to the stronghold. Good news! I've finally learned how to place two enchantments on items! I am so going to get a new set of armor and max enchant it to better spank lots of bad boys. I took the gold to Riften and Madesi showed me some new techniques for jewelry making. Aren't they pretty? And I practiced double spelling so they're all enchanted. Similarly spelled items are bagged together. The stuff in the black velvet bag is for paying Wuunferth or whomever to help you evaluate the strength of the enchantments so that you can better price them for sale._

 _Also, the dwarven haul may be delayed in arriving. Something's got up the Stormcloak butts down here and they're intercepting travelers to look for something. Half my merc partners have decided to wait in Riften with the haul a few more days until the Stormcloaks cool down and the other half will escort the scholars back to Winterhold, bypassing Windhelm._

 _Give my apologies to Calcelmo and give him the journal in the box. I found it in the Arkngtharnz and I've already found two pieces of Aetherium. I think I already know where the forge is, but can't get to it without the rest of the pieces. I'll give him more details the next_  
 _time I'm in Markarth._

 _I won't have time to stop back home. I've got an urgent message from Solitude about a dead queen who won't stay dead. Soon as I shove Meridia's sword through her chest, I'm on my way back to you. Miss you. Hugs and kisses. -Helsette_

"Revyn, you've got a stupid smile on your face. I take it Helsette's sent you something very nice?"

"Thane Icewind said I can't sell anything on my inventory list. This isn't on it." He let Ambarys peek into some of the bags. "Magical jewelry. My lady's been practicing her craft. These should sell very nicely."

"Revyn, are you sure you want to play that game? If Icewind wants to gut you I don't think the Jarl will naysay him."

"Icewind touches me, my lady will have his head. The Jarl will act if he wants to keep his newest favorite thane alive. I'm sure there will be heavy fines, but I think I can make this work in the long run. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some flyers to post and a royal wizard to bribe."

* * * * *

Renting Niranye's market stall for his jewelry sale was quite expensive. Then there was the extra expense of hiring off-duty guards for crowd control, and there was quite a crowd in the Stone Quarters looking to buy what he had for sale. He'd gone to the Jarl for permission to hold his sale and Icewind's housecarl had protested. But between Wuunferth's judgement on the quality of the items and Revyn's assurance that he was only selling within Windhelm, the Jarl gave permission. This was handled all in public court and a better advertisement Revyn couldn't get than court gossip. There were plenty of the Eastmarch noble class coming into Windhelm for the sale and gathering in the cold marketplace. The Atherons and Cruel-Seas, forwarned, had hot meals and drinks ready for sale .

"Winterhold? No. My wife learned from one of the greatest mage-lords of House Telvanni. Yes, she also can enchant weapons and armor - I have some in my shop with more to come in the future. Sorry, I'm only allowed to sell jewelry today. No, sorry, I can't guarantee a schedule, but I maintain a list of buyers that I notify if items of interest come into my shop; here, your name and what you're looking for on this card then. Why, yes, good sir, this necklace is enchanted for strength and agility; it may not restore all you've lost before your wounds, but at least you'll be able to walk on your own without those canes. Yes, child, this will help with your sister's marksmanship. Just remind her that it only enhances what she knows, so she still needs to practice without it."

The court has assigned a clerk from the tax office to handle Revyn's cash box. The work was fast-paced and tax calculations non-stop, but it was the first time the people were eagerly pushing gold into his hands so the tax man had a happy scowl. At the end, taxes and fines ate sixty percent of the gross, the rest was rental and hire fees, leaving Revyn with the remaining fifteen percent and a large list of private, future buyers and custom orders.

He dutifully presented himself to Thane Icewind in Hjerim Hall when the thane returned. After all, he still needed to sell the overstock in his shop and he still needed the Thane's permission to proceed with the sale. "Here to rub your cleverness in my face, elf?" the thane demanded. "You know damn well you don't need my permission to sell your goods."

"Actually, my lord, I didn't know that. I was still under the impression that your oversight is still required."

"You know, elf, I've been warned by plenty that your wife is not one to anger. I. Don't. Care. You deliberately set out to make a fool of me.

"However, you're very lucky that one of your buyers was the honorable Captain Emmet. After a mace broke his back in battle, the healers manged to save his life but he was cripple and only just managed to walk with two canes and he was alwasy in pain. Your wife's trinkets gave him back his legs and the ability to pick up a sword. He's no good for future battles, tires too easily, but his experience is invaluable and he can train others. He knocked the sword out of my hands this morning in a training bout.

"And that's the only reason you're walking out of here unharmed. Get out."

Revyn took his time walking through Valunstrad, enjoying the rare warm day and the fancy houses found in the oldest section of the city. He cut through the graveyard in heading back to the Gray Quarters, following the melted snow waters flowing down the city street gutters to home.


	4. 04 Skyforge Steel

DISCLAIMER — What's Bethesda' is theirs, etc. Stories not in chronological order.

SKYFORGE STEEL

The blond Nord looked a little rough for wear and he clearly was not comfortable stepping into Dunmer territory.

"Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares. Take a look around. I'm sure I have something you need. Armor, weapons, potions ..." Revyn's smile widened as he recognized the scales ring the Nord held out to him.

"A friend gave this to me. Said you'd give me a discount," the man mumbled.

"Oh, yes." Revyn held up the ring, noted the numbers on the inside and looked at a ledger under the counter. "My wife's little gift to you entitles you to a one-time, today-only hefty discount. Half off of anything currently in stock."

"Wife? She lives here?" The Nord studied him intently. "What was she doing so near the High Rock Border?"

Revyn shrugged. "I don't ask. Adventurers like her wander where they will. I worry enough as it is. But do go ahead and tell me where she met you and why she gave you her ring."

After a long moment of staring at him with an occasional blink, the Nord mumbled, "Northwatch. A prison. She rescued me from it. She gave me the ring after I told her I was going to join the nearest Stormcloaks I could. Told me to look up your shop if I ever got to Windhelm. She never mentioned you were her husband."

"Prison? What ... Oh, nevermind. That's your business. Well, have a look around. I'm sure I have something you need."

While the Nord wandered about the room, Revyn laid out some weapons. "Oh, here, weapons my wife recently sent me. Very good quality. You're just in time it seems to have first pick. Once word gets out I'm sure to have sold all this in two days. Have a look," he urged. The Nord looked. One battle axe in particular caused the Nord's eyes to widen and hands to tremble. "This axe, like it? You have a good eye. My wife received it as a reward for a job she volunteered to do. But axes really aren't her weapon of choice. Besides, it originally was made for another's hand and fighting style. And since it was a gift it wouldn't really do to return it or resell it within the same city."

"I like it very much. But even half off I can't afford it," the man said mournfully as he ran loving hands over the axe head and handle.

"A pity. Well, I have a notion the Jarl or Stone-Fist would be interested in Skyforge steel. It's made by Eorlund Gray-Mane of Whiterun, a Stormcloak supporter, you know. Highly desirable. Only forges Skyforge for the Companions so getting one if you're not a Companion is quite the prize. The favor my wife did was for the Gray-Mane matriarch. Seems one of her sons was in quite a bit of trouble. Political trouble, which would explain why the Companions could not involve themselves for even their own forgemaster I suppose. An ignorant, outland, footloose mer spellsword like my wife, however..." Revyn sighed dramatically and proceeded to put the axe into the caged display reserved for enchanted weapons.

"Tell you what, Brunwulf Free-Winter has been tracking a new band of murderous thugs attacking Dunmer farms and travelers. My wife is still away or she'd be on this. If you've a mind to take this job, talk to Free-Winter. Perhaps you can get him to buy the axe to hold onto it for you. The bandits are sure to have loot and you can use that to pay him off. Of course, any excess gems, weapons, armor and the like, I'll buy at a fair price."

"Half off price for the axe still?"

"Oh, very good. Yes, I will sell it to Free-Winter for half off if he comes in before the end of tomorrow."

The Nord nodded and straightened held out his hand to Revyn. "Thank you. You and your lady have been more than generous over the troubles of a stranger." Revyn suffered the bone-crushing grip and eased his arm free just as another Nord resembling the first came into the shop.

"Done yet, Thorald? Come on. I'm hungry and I want to get to Candlehearth before the dinner crowd gets too thick. Gavin and some of the other trainees are already there drinking up the mead."

"Enjoy your dinner," said Revyn. "But if you want a real drink, try New Gnisis Cornerclub next door."

Brunwulf Free-Winter was in by the next morning to admire the axe and get more on the story he'd gotten from the Gray-Manes. "Nice," he said, giving the axe a swing. "So this is Skyforge steel."

"Yes. Keeps its edge far longer than regular steel. Only Balimund in Riften comes come closest to matching the quality. To hear War-Anvil's bellyaching, the only thing special about Gray-Mane steel is the Skyforge itself. If not for that forge, he's better than Gray-Mane."

Free-Winter laughed. "Oh, I remember Balimund. Interesting place for a wedding. What's this about his forge; has it recovered after you nearly burned the shop down?"

Revyn dismissed that dig with a lazy wave of his hand. "Balimund's forge can be inconsistent due to whether or not he's using his family's trick for forging. My wife told me he has to go to some extra lengths to get his forge hot enough to match the Skyforge otherwise it's like any other forge. She only knows about it because she had to help him gather the forge ingredients which he couldn't do on his own because it was too dangerous to travel about."

"Ah, yes. Adventurers. What would we do without them? So the Gray-Mane sons owe her a debt and they're willing to take on some of her bandit-hunting for this axe. That is, if they can get time off from their unit. Stormcloaks have them moving between camps to forge weapons and armor. They're working hard to negotiate extra leave time in this area without mentioning why they need the time. Good luck to 'em. But they better be as good swinging an axe as forging them. Don't want them dead and the Stormcloaks looking at us for being out of two smiths of a highly respected family."

"Hm, yes, Gray-Manes, the honored forgemasters to the heirs of Ysgramor."

Revyn fitted a leather axe cover to the weapon. The axe hadn't come with one but Revyn had a Morrowind-made netch leather cover that had been pawned but would never be redeemed. The axe cover was a beauty too. A family heirloom, he'd been told, with Indoril House symbols and runes for bravery and luck and an enchantment to keep the weapon it covered free of rust. The owner had become one of the victims of a particularly nasty bandit group sprung up lately. This group only hit non-Nords and were pretty blatant about it. The latest outrage had been wagons coming in from farms to bring food supplies to Stormcloak quartermasters. Of the seven wagons on the same road, only the two Dunmer owned farmwagons were hit, supplies and horses stolen, drivers slain.

"What is your estimation of the boys? My wife thought them headstrong and impulsive. Avulstein nearly attacked her as an Imperial spy just for being in their home. She wouldnt' have gotten involved if she hadn't watched the Gray-Mane matriarch being disgracefully harrassed at her stall in the public market for all to see and hear."

"They are impulsive. The kind that need a good knocking about until they've learned to think before acting. With their longtime ties with the Companions I would think they've learned some warrior's discipline. But they aren't hopeless," said Free-Winter. "I'd say they've been schooled in weaponry, they've seen heroes, but they just need a good few forays into actual battle to shake up, test, and hone their mettle." Revyn made an amused hum of agreement. Brunwuul continued, "Avulstein anyway. Capture and torture by the Thalmor was harsh tempering for Thorald. Avulstein still needs a good knocking. But they're of good stock."

"Thalmor? Who said anything about Thalmor?" Revyn protested with a smile. "My wife merely went after another den of vicious kidnappers like the ones at Mistwatch Keep. Now the axe, 1600 septims ..."

"Cheap compared to that steak knife your wife forged for me."

"Ah, but that little dagger was an ebony blade with a rare vampire enchantment. This is merely steel. Skyforge steel but still just steel with a good fire enchantment, and then my wife took the time to work it until it's much harder and sharper than normal Skyforge now."

—+—+—+—+

"Welcome back, seras. I see you've reclaimed your axe from Free-Winter."

"Aye. It was a good hunt." Both Gray-Manes heaved large bags onto the counter. Armor and weapons, then smaller bags of gems and jewelry and folds of fine-quality clothes.

"Hm, I'll handle the smaller items first. The armory and ingots you can probably get better prices right now from War-Anvil; he's running low on some stock and raw goods this week and has been complaining about late shipments. Oh ..." Revyn picked up a silver and emerald necklace. "Oh. I hope you cut the bastards good for this. Dany's 10th-year wedding gift from Mattis. He slaved away a whole year-and-a-half to earn the extra coin for this." He sighed and set it aside for family if he could find any still alive.

"They had a lot of treasure, those bandits," said Thorald. "Tried recruiting us. Boasted rich pickings as long as non-Nords were targeted."

"Mm. Yes."

"Some were trainees we knew. Thought we knew," Avulstein growled angrily. "Honorless scum. A disgrace to the Stormcloak cause! Collecting Stormcloak pay and robber dividends."

"You want to be careful to whom you mention that to. The powers hereabouts deal very harshly with slanderers."

"They'll listen to the words of the Gray-Manes," pronounced Thorald. "We'll root those dishonorable scum from our ranks."

"That's nice. Makes it safer for us to carry on with our lives," said Revyn. He found another recognizable piece of jewelry and a dagger that needed returning.

"Why won't you dark elves help with the war effort? Surely you hate the high elves as well," asked Avulstein.

Revyn stopped his sorting. "I'm sorry? What have the Altmer to do with this?"

"The high elves control the Empire and the Empire betrayed your people. We went to the Cornerclub. I followed one of the betrayers upstairs when he looked for things to steal. We saw the Imperial armor your friend had."

Revyn started at Avulstein reproachfully. "Planning to report him? Have him executed as an Imperial spy?"

"Of course not," Thorald said, eyeing his brother sternly.

"Of course not," Avulstein echoed. "But it just proves you've got fighters down here."

"Yes, we do. My wife isn't the only warrior in the Gray Quarter, just the most blatant. But if you think to recruit them to Stormcloak's cause, I refer you to the official plaque at Refugee's Rest, that ruined tower east of here." He quoted, _"Untithed to any thane or hold, and self-governed, with free worship, with no compensation to Skyrim or the Empire except as writ in the Armistice of old wheresoever those might still apply, and henceforth let no Man or Mer say that the Sons and Daughters of Kyne are without mercy or honor._

 _"We, the Jarls of Skyrim, hereby decree this site as monument to the struggle of those who fled their native home of Morrowind in the time following the Red Year._

"I remember listening to Jarl Ulfric's grandsire greeting us with those words. I remember the people of Windhelm gifting us with blankets, food and drink, and supplies to restart our lives. I saw the welcome die as that generation of Nords died.

"Now I agree wholeheartedly the _Thalmor Dominion,_ " he stressed, "threatens everyone, but from the ground view, the bootsoles of Thalmor and Stormcloaks look alike."

Avulstein snarled something under his breath and Thorald flushing angrily.

"We're fighting for our freedom, elf,' said Avulstein. "Do you dark elves not understand that basic demand?"

"The Armistice mentioned in the plaque obliges us to take up arms against any threats against the Empire and allies of the Empire. Do you not see the dilemma for we that live here in Windhelm? We're not helping you, but we're also not helping the Empire."

"The Empire betrayed you like it betrayed us. We have common cause."

"The Stormcloak wants our help and our blood but won't grant us permission to fix our sewers even if we offered to pay for it ourselves. We're not to be trusted digging up streets in case we're secretly sapping the city's defense. And if we can afford to pay for the materials, we must not be paying enough taxes." Revyn calmed himself as he separated the goods we was willing to buy.

"One thousand thirty for this lot. As I said before, War-Anvil will give you better prices for the armor and weapons. I've marked for you which ones hold enchantments so you may want to take them to a wizard to find out what kind and the strength for better prices. The rest you can sell to Neranye, one of the resident Altmers if you don't mind dealing with a high elf, or wait until Ma'Dran's caravan comes back in a week."

Avulstein would have said something further but Thorald slapped the back of one hand against his brother's chest, saying, "Enough, brother. I don't want to quarrel with her husband. And ... He's right. Were it not for this war Jon Battle-Born would be our brother-in-law. Gavin would be an all-out robber still needing killing because he'd openly be killing Nords as well for money. Declaring himself a Stormcloak was just another way to rob his own people. Keep your anger for the el-, the Thalmor."

Avulstein walked away, head bowed and breathing deep. But eventually he came back. "I apologize, Sadri. You people have your reasons. But I still think the Empire has earned its blame."

"No argument there, friend. We weren't happy the way the Empire ordered all Legions to protect Cyrodiil during the Oblivion Crisis. Dunmer Legionnairs like Ambarys were left humiliated and socially ruined by this betrayal; forced to desert their posts and forswear their oaths in order to stay and protect Morrowind, then doubly damned and driven out because no House wants a deserter and oathbreaker.

"Most of us here are of House Hlaalu, an Imperial-allied House. Branded traitors and kicked off the council, no longer a Great House because of our ties to the Empire.

"And for a few years Skyrim was our refuge and hope for new beginnings until the welcome wore out faster than we could heal. Now it's 'Skyrim's for the Nords,' Gray-Mane." Revyn quoted, his tone sharp. "Every week we hear, 'Your kind has no place here.'"

The faces of the brother's were blank, their gaze unwavering and stolidly accepting his anger without further defending themselves. Revyn took a deep breath and shook his head slightly. "Apologies. I am sorry. You've done the Dunmer a service in killing those bandits where the Jarl would not. And I am especially grateful. With Stor-, false trainees among them, then I give thanks to The Webspinner for bringing reputable and honorable Stormcloaks to help us. Even my wife would not have been able to avoid charges of slander and murder over those trainees. We are grateful, Gray-Manes. You'll find other Dunmer merchants around here willing to extend you credit and better prices."

As the brothers gathered the remainder of their loot and made to leave, Revyn fished out a key from a miscellany goods box. "Oh, Avulstein, a souvenir for you. Catch."

"What ..."

"The key to Northwatch Keep. My wife picked it off the leader's corpse." Revyn looked Thorald and smiled blandly. "After she escorted you and the other prisoners out, Thorald, she went back in and slaughtered the rest of them. I don't know if you've heard of Mistwatch Keep near the border of The Rift, a group of bandits there kidnapped people and demanded high ransoms. My wife cleared that lot out like she did at Northwatch. But your Northwatch group sounded particulary vicious; imagine not only kidnapping innocent people but torturing them. On the bright side, my wife salvaged quite a bit of goods when she was finished."

Thorald and Avulstein exchanged glances. "Bandits," said Thorald slowly, "not Thalmor. Right. Nobody, not even the Companions, is insane enough to openly attack the Thalmor, must less an entire garrison."

"Right, nobody needs Thalmor dogging them while they travel," agreed Avulstein. "You got captured by bandits. We just hadn't received the ransom demand yet before mother found someone to rescue you."

"Have a nice day, gentlemen. Come back again. I'm having a sale next week on high-quality glass and moonstone weapons. Plenty of bargains to be had."


	5. 05 Help Wanted

_Darth's Daughter: Thank you. Yep, first one I ever considered._

 _Hija de la Tempestad: Very flattered and humbled that my take on Revyn and the Dunmer elicits such a strong reaction. Thank you. As for her lineage, well, I would think men of power would have a mistress or concubine, yes?_

DISCLAIMER - What's Bethesda' is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

— HELP WANTED —

A furtive movement by a customer snapped his attention back to business. He put down his inventory lists and rounded the counter while slipping on light suede gauntlets. "Is there something in particular you have questions about?" he asked pleasantly, smiling. The thin boy started and stared back at him sullenly.

"No. Just looking," the boy rasped. The voice was a bit high and rough as if from illness.

Revyn scanned the shelf. What was missing had one of his brows arching. "If it's tea you're looking for, why not this one? It's very good for coughs and light fevers. The one you picked is pain relief for female problems."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lad, I'm talking about the box slipped up your sleeve." For a moment it looked as if the boy would bolt, but then thin shoulders slumped and the box was returned to the shelf. The ragged edges of his sleeve slipped down, exposing the boney wrist. Revyn caught the boy's wrist and pushed the sleeve up to reveal scars from ropes or crude metal cuffs. Old scars twisted as the child had grown.

"I've put it back; let me go!"

"Not yet." Revyn took the tea box pressed it against the first that he still held until the fingers opened and grasped the box. "As soon as the water boils, take it off the heat and put a large pinch in. Let cool completely before drinking. It's very bitter. Sorry. And it's best taken on an empty stomach. If you need more, come back and we can work something out."

The girl wrenched out of his grip and he let her go. She stood back out of arms reach arms crossed across her chest and stared at him defiantly. "Like what?" she demanded.

"I always needs items cleaned or repaired. If you know anything about herbs and are good with your hands, I'm going to be hiring some people to assemble products and you can join them." Revyn retreated back to the counter and leaned against it, his pose casua and non-threatening. "Seek out Elani over the rag shop if you're interested. She does crafts projects for me. You may tell her I sent you. If she doesn't take you on, well, as I've said, things need cleaning, polishing, or mending. If you know how to read and write with some skill, then there are more jobs."

"What do you pay?"

"For starters, you have the tea and referral for honest work. Anything more depends on you."

The girl left without another word. Revyn sighed and removed the stop-thief gauntlets his wife had recently made him. He hadn't had a chance to use them before and he was glad he wouldn't have to on a child. The suede was enchanted to enhance agility, the hidden steel needles at the wrists paralyzed. She'd insisted after the last daylight burglary attempt. His shop was becoming known for carrying expensive and/or exotic items thanks to her.

Malthyr came in. "I've got an hour to watch the shop for you, Revyn. Good luck with Jorlief."

"Thanks, Malthry. I really appreciate this." Revyn snatched up a bag and trotted determinedly for the palace.

+—+—+—+—+

"Definitely Riften orphan as you suspected," said Elani. "Savela wasn't kicked out at sixteen like usual; ran away. She's only eleven but thanks to her human sire she's taller and more physically developed for her age."

"Dressing as a boy of course," said Revyn. "Oversized clothing, deliberate use of paint in a most unattractive manner. Odor of sewage. All to hide a pretty child alone on the road."

Elani nodded and went on. "She was eight when she was sent to Honorhall. Her mother was convicted of practicing necromancy. I told her she can stay with me if she can earn her keep, starting with this job for you. If she works out, you can start training her to handle your counter."

"Wait, what?"

"Look, Revyn, you've been complaining that you're getting more business than you can handle and Malthyr can't keep helping you at your shop and work for Ambarys. You need help; you need an apprentice. The child is smart and she's of age to start learning a profession. She needs to be able to support herself." Elani grinned a touch slyly. "And you've proven you can handle young, willful, wild girls."

Revyn choked on a disbelieving laugh. "Nonsense! Where did such an idea as that spring from?" He sighed and threw up his hands. "Alright, Elani, I'll consider it. We'll see how she conducts herself and if it looks like she's willing to work with us."

"Good, good. Now, what's the job you have in mind?"

"Apothecary and cooking wreaths. I have an overstock and so does the White Phial. I thought of wreaths of herbs put together by purpose, like herbs good for cooking, herbs that heal — that kind of thing. Quintus is willing to advise on the combinations and do the product write-up and I'm hoping your artistic senses will make the things look and smell good. I'll start right away on marketing of course."

"Interesting idea. So let's talk price and timeline."

"Shouldn't my new apprentice be here to observe how to handle tempermental tradesmen?"

"No, no. No need for her to learn right off how easily her new master can be bullied."

+—+—+—+—+

The girls, Savela and Elani's own two apprentices worked in the side room of the shop that Revyn normally used for storage. It was also the room that he now also used for planning the expansion of his shop. He had finally secured permission to begin building a second level and a basement. One would think all the jobs his wife had done, was doing — taking out bandits and pirates, catching butchering murderers — it'd be a simple matter of retaining her loyalty to Windhelm by granting some concessions, but no. It still had cost a great deal of coin in petition fees and careful bribes and time in gathering character references from several Nords of good standing, but permission was finally granted. And while final layout plans had to be court-approved, no restrictions were placed on who he had to hire or to buy materials from.

Elani's help was invaluable here too. She made lovely floorplans from his absurd sketches and gave excellent advice on designing space. Revyn was glad to have her help as he bounced between rooms, handling sales and making layout decisions, and covertly observing Savela's reactions to the activities around her.

By unspoken, mutual agreement, he and Elani openly discussed matters in front of the girls, letting them overhear. Most of it was doubtlessly useless and boring information for the girls. Elani's girls gossiped. Savela kept quiet, scrupuluosly following Eleni's written instructions for combining herbs and sketches for assembling the materials. Was she listening or in her own world? Revyn couldn't tell yet.

"The basement I'm thinking to build last simply because I want good, solid Morrowind cement walls and certain pre-formed shapes to hold special items."

Elani nodded and chalked in some forms. "Cages for high-security items?"

"Exactly. And a few other things."

"Vent shafts, heating tubes along ceiling, cellar furnace... At least the smaller footage will keep the costs down."

"No, still expensive. It's digging into Windhelm's frozen ground, and I'm shipping in the volcanic ash and gravel from Solstheim. And this digging will have to go on while I'm running the my store. I can find miners locally to dig, but I've yet to find qualified masons for the rest. I may have to pay for a master mason from either Solstheim or Morrowind. And then I'll have to rent space for a masonry shop to be set up.

"Gods, I could have just bought Calixto's Museum for cheaper if they'd have let Dunmer buy property outside the Gray Quarter.

"But that's my problem. The plans look good, Elani, thank you. Now if you could make a simplified set — ones that I can show the Nords to get approval on — by tomorrow afternoon..."

"You'll pay for tomorrow's lunch and dinner."

"With pleasure. Venison stew, bread, cheese, fruits and sweet rolls from the Cornerclub acceptable?"

"And a chilled pitcher of matze in the next hour or two."

"Done."

+—+—+—+—+

It had been a long week. Plans were approved, wreaths were finished and stored to be sold or shipped. Elani had left to visit her friends leaving Revyn and Savela at their table in the Cornerclub to finish dessert.

The girl was still on the quiet side, but by now she no longer flinched when he was near and even ventured to occasionally meet his gaze and smile at him. Elani had told him she'd asked of questions about him, telling questions about was he always so nice, what did he do when he was angry, and when he sometimes touched Elani's hands, did he ever do anything else? Elani was sure the girl was a technical virgin, but being a Riften orphan, one could never be certain other things hadn't happened.

"I know Elani has taken it as a given that you'll be my apprentice, but is it what you want? You're quick to learn and I think honest. You'd make a decent sales clerk, but I have the feeling learning to run a retail store is not what you want."

Savela didn't answer; just looked down at her plate.

"I understand that you need to pay Elani rent, and for whatever you really want to do, once you find it, you'll need money to start it. Do you know what you want to do?"

"I want to find my mother," was the barely audible reply.

"Oh, I do understand that need, child. Family is all that really matters. A name, a house, a history, a place here and in the hereafter. A single light in darkness can flare brightly, but most often just too easily lost unnoticed in the void. A chain of lights, however, fills the sky. Do you have a family name, Savela?"

"Nethri."

"Your mother's..."

"Selveni."

"Then I will help you write letters to temples in Morrowind who could help find a House and the strongest kin line if there are any alive. If you remember anything of where you lived before you were taken away from your mother, we can see if any of my contacts in those areas recall her name. And if she trying to find you, as I'm sure she must be, she would try to contact those who may remember you. Do you agree? In the meantime, you will need a place to stay, food to eat, and money to save.

"I have to write to contacts to market those wreaths you helped make and asking about your mother is only another line or two. Apothecaries, alchemists — people whom necromancers can't help but interact with since they use the same tool base. Letters to Morrowind is a bit more costly, but that's part of what you'll be working for.

"Now you could go running off and search on your own, and perhaps that will be what's needed, but you're not ready yet for that, Savela. It's dangerous out there and you have to be able to defend yourself either by quick talking or force of arms or both. Travel requires money and you don't want to resort to banditry to make your way. And no one gives free information to any scruffy creature off the road.

"So. Stay with Elani. You can work a few hours every day with me and help me prepare items for sale; learn how to identify and evaluate items people may want; learn how to talk to people and make sales; earn some coins and learn how to spend it to your advantage; find other teachers who can teach you other skills that you think you'll need. Let the letter writing do it's work and pray Mephala's web touches your search and uncovers the hidden information you need. Is this something you can agree with?"

A soft sniffle and a nod.

"Good, good. You can start tomorrow. Two hours before noon until two hours after to start with. Now are you done eating, child? Good. I'll escort you back to Elani's."

A watery sniffle.

"Do you need a hug, child?" Though she made no obvious answer, he rose, came around, and pulled her out of her chair and into a firm, comforting embrace. She was nearly as tall has his wife and when she fully matured there would be fantastic curves over those lanky bones, yet all he could feel the trembling of a very young child as her body shook with great sobs and she buried her face in his shoulder. People around politely ignored them.

Now that night had engulfed the city, there were few on the streets. Nothing unusual. Rolff and his buddies were also out, drunkenly spewing their brand of patriotism; again, nothing unusual. Revyn held Savela close, gently turning her away and shielding her from their sight. At the door to Elani's, he tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Tomorrow we're unpacking items dragged out of a barrow. Expect a lot of dirt, rust, and mold so wear an overdress to protect your regular clothes and a wrap for your hair. And bring Elani along since for now she is acting as your guardian of a sorts. We'll need her signature on the apprenticeship paper."

"Papers What do we need that for?"

"Since you're not kin, it's a way of formalizing our relationship and protecting both our reputations. Elani can probably explain it better than I. As a girl, you have more things to consider than if you were a boy.

"Now go rest, child. I'll see you tomorrow. Overdress and hair wrap. Remember. Goodnight."

He trotted quickly homeward. He wondered if Suveris was still at the Cornerclub; he was sure she'd be willing to help him draw up a contract. The Cornerclub would do as a place to conduct that business and that way there'd again be multiple witnesses.

He hesitated as he heard the soft sounds of a child crying in the darkness. "Hello? Do you need some help?" He caught a glimpse of short hair and white skin as it bolted and ran away. A new, young orphan sunken into the Gray Quarter after finding no welcome from her own kind. Nothing he could do tonight; he'd have to make time tomorrow to ask around.


	6. Bait & Switch

DISCLAIMER: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

BAIT & SWITCH

"Orthos, really, I guarantee that if you cut shipping costs to Black Marsh as I've shown you, we can both net a ten percent gain in increased trade sustainable for at least the next five years."

"Yes, but the turnaround time is still uncomfortably long."

"Can't be helped while the Thalmor still control that part of Elsewyr. Still, the potential profits are there."

Orthos's next argument was interrupted by a distant roar followed by panicked screams outside on the docks. The two rushed to the door, wrenched it open and peered out. "Shit," Orthos breathed and then began gesticulating wildly and shouting for people on the dock to get inside while at the same time yelling for his assistants to secure the books and cashboxes. Revyn pushed him inside, telling him to see to his business and he'd keep watch in the front. Doors to the Argonian Embassy and the Shatter-Shield Warehouse likewise opened for this emergency and soon the dock was vacant except for a few bold guards who valiantly, if vainly, tried to ward the dragon away with bows and iron arrows.

From the depths of the city, a faint, weaker shout tried to ward off the dragon. Ulfric, finally rousing his butt from the secure depths of the palace to protect the city proper.

The dragon looped casually around, spewing gouts of fire at the docks, setting fire to ships and exposed cargo on the docks. Sailors and dockworkers rushed out from hiding to save what they could.

A second dragon glided from the north, strafing the city with ice.

Two mages using fireballs and lighting bolts from the south attacked the dragons. Atronachs of fire and storm glided along the shoreline opposite the docks adding their attacks. A familiar chitin armored archer fired arrows of lightning.

"It's the Dragonborn and Faro!" shouted one of the outside guards. "You, Gandry, get inside and tell them the Dragonborn's here and get some people out there to help them."

The Dragonborn's shouts were far stronger than the Jarl's and combined with her magic, the magic of her companion, and Helsette's bow, the dragons were soon brought down — one almost on top of the stables and the other somewhere inside the city, hopefully not the Gray Quarter.

"Hell of a way to start the week," said Orthos with a long sigh. "We'll have to work on trade later, Revyn. I need to see if anything's gone missing and you should probably get back to your shop and see what else Helsette's been up to if she's been wandering around with the Dragonborn."

"Quite so. Later then, Orthos." Revyn rushed back to his shop as fast as the crowd permitted. Along the way he received many congratulatory slaps at his wife working with the legendary Dragonborn.

His apprentice had locked down the shop when the attacks began. When he entered he said immediately, "Thank you, Savela, did my wife come in?"

"She did, sir. She went immediately to your room." She nodded at the closed door, a recent installment now that he had workmen constantly coming in and out of the store building a second level to his shop. He gave her and the builders the rest of the day off with pay knowing most people coming into his shop today would not be interested in purchasing but in gossip.

He opened he door to bedroom/kitchen area. The occupant rose to her feet, removed her helmet, and bowed stiffly from the waist. "Sir."

"Lydia," he reached out and clasped her forearm in Nord fashion, "a pleasure to finally meet you in person. So where..."

"The ice dragon landed in the courtyard of the palace and my thane went there to claim its soul. Also, Jarl Ulfric insisted she stay for a feast to celebrate her victory. Her fellow Winterhold student, Telvanni Brelyna Maryon went with her. Miss Maryon remains unaware of my thane's double life since I met my thane at Mzulft wearing her armor as you ordered and she introduced me to Miss Maryon as Helsette Faro of Windhelm. I'll be leaving as soon as our business is concluded.

"My thane also wished me to express her displeasure at having to face two dragons. She felt that was an unnecessary embellishment on your promotional scheme." She managed to say this with a straight face.

"But it was such a successful sale," he said dryly. "Mephala graced us with success but perhaps Boethiah was bored and so she sent the dragons to liven the presentation. The three of you battled well, though." Revyn went past her and began rummaging in the pantry. "Honningbrew Mead or ale?"

"Whatever you have is fine, sir."

Revyn turned around and studied the Nord woman. Severe expression but pretty. Tough and no-nonsense and aggressive. Revyn served the mead and bread and stew. "This should do very well in soothing some of the suspicions about Helsette being seen around too many dragon sightings."

"I hope I carried it off successfully. I am not as good with a bow as she is."

"With the way those two were throwing spells about, I doubt anybody would notice the difference in your styles.

"But to business. You received the packet I sent to Breezehome, yes? I expect you have some questions for me."

"Yes, sir, I do. They are great plans to bring my Thane much power and influence, but how am I supposed to execute your plans? I am no clerk or trader. I don't know how to set up such contracts and accounts."

"I've found a very promising lady to do all that, but she's Dunmer and I need you as the Thane's housecarl to lend authority until she's recognized and respected for her own merits. Once she's accepted as Dragonborn Felix's steward, you and she should be able to handle all business in the Hold. Did you manage to secure permission to expand Breezehome?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and two children. She has children."

"There will be room."

"Excellent. I haven't yet give her the full information, but I see no concern in that area. She would not have risen as high as she had in Morrowind finances if she couldn't handle highly confidential information.

"When can I expect her?"

"In a month. I'll be escorting her to Whiterun myself and I'll stay at the Bannered Mare." They talked until evening then the Nord left, wearing the helmet and armor and waving at people as she went through the Gray Quarters and the gates.

He went to the Cornerclub for a drink and the latest gossip. The Telvanni mage was there telling stories about the Dragonborn's activities at the College of Winterhold. He sidled up to Ambarys and gestured to the Telvanni.

"Dragonborn's companion," said Ambarys. "Said she couldn't stand being at the court so came here for better company. Dragonborn gave her permission to go while she suffers Jarl Ulfric's sermonizing and attempts to recruit her to his cause. Pretty friendly for a Telvanni."

The mage had already polished off a tankard of sujamma and was very chatty, especially surrounded by admiring gossip hounds prodding her on for more details about the battle and about the Dragonborn. The few Nords and guards who had followed her in sensibly stayed at the edge of the Dunmer crowd.

They had gone to some Dwemer ruins called Mzulft to look for some clues for a magical staff. Faro was already there exploring what looked like a storage area outside of the main ruins. They got their clue along with a lot of Dwemer treasure so before returning to Winterhold they had decided to stop at Windhelm to sell stuff. Faro had promised them a good welcome, great food and drinks at the Cornerclub on her tab, but the dragons happened and poor Antonia was stuck at the Palace for now. And Faro was right, the food and drinks were great here.

Ambarys made introductions. After all, Revyn was paying for her meal and, as it turned out, her room at the Cornerclub because she hadn't been invited to stay at the palace.

"Honored, Miss Maryon. I remember my father used to supply Felen Maryon with alchemic and other spell components from the ashlands."

"Oh, indeed. Um, is Helsette coming soon?"

"No, unfortunately, she had an urgent missive awaiting her and had to leave almost immediately."

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to getting to know her better. We were too intent on fighting off Falmer and automatons to really do any talking. And right after we got out of Mzulft she left us to deliver some frost salts to Kynesgrove mine. She'd just caught up with us when the dragons attacked."

"She's often at the College," Revyn said, gesturing for her to sit and he took a seat beside her. "Have you not worked with my wife before?"

"No, my projects don't require help such as hers. She mainly works with Onmund and J'zargo. They were the ones who first found her, or rather, she found them in a Falmer tunnel when they were exploring a cave to get mushrooms for Magister Collette. She hauled them back to the College and let it be known she was looking for work. People who want her to do something for them leave word at the Frozen Hearth Inn and then meet her there to discuss the job. She's been invaluable to a number of projects. When we got to Mzulft she was already there for one of our researchers who needed Dwemer cogs."

"So did you find your staff?"

"We will. We found the clue we needed."

"And you will be going?"

"Well, no. Antonia decided it was too dangerous for me and, oh, I'm sorry, but she's engaged your wife to accompany her to Labrynthia."

Revyn nodded and patted her hand. "No surprises. What's the importance of the staff?"

"All I know is it's important to a research project the Archmage is working on."

Nicely said but Revyn knew when he was losing a sale so he excused himself to get a drink. Others eagerly surrounded her and engaged her attention.

The Dragonborn and Maryon left late the next day. Jarl Ulfric was reported to be in bad mood. Galmar was cursing the Dragonborn's name. General opinion of the court was that the Dragonborn Antonia Felix was one cold bitch too full of herself to eat or drink with the court and incredibly rude because she never removed her mask. But at least she swore she was not actively working with the Empire and that, like Whiterun and Winterhold College, she was neutral.

+—+—+—+—+

"Ma'dran, I have another one. An Imperial is talking to a Stormcloak. 'Hey, can you speak Altmeri?' 'No,' says the Stormcloak. 'You're welcome,' says the Imperial."

The Khajiit around him laughed.

"Cute, elf," said a familiar, unwelcome voice. The Khajiit backed away. Revyn sighed.

"Thane Icewind, a lovely day, is it not?" he said with patently false cheer.

The Nord surveyed the camp, faintly sneering. The Khajiit stared back, their own postures reflecting his cold reserve. Revyn reluctantly stood up, knowing the pleasant morning was at an end.

"Are you interested in our wares, good sir?" asked Ma'dran.

"No. I just want to have a talk with this one." He glared at Revyn.

"Of course," said Revyn. He nodded goodbye to Ma'dran and began walking away. Icewind fell into step beside him.

"Your wife travels with the Dragonborn."

"No, she does not. One job does not make her the Dragonborn's boon companion. She does occasional jobs for the College when she's in the area. The Dragonborn happens to be a student at the College. I suppose it's inevitable that they meet."

"Hmph. She's done some tasks for Jarl Konrir. That sly Dunmer steward of his adores her. I've also heard she and another Dunmer were responsible for ridding Dawnstar of its curse of nightmares. More damned magic workings." Revyn said nothing. He snatched a handful of snowberries off a bush and ate it while Icewind continued muttering about other things he'd heard about Faro's adventuring.

"My lord, is there a point to this?" He asked, finally getting impatient as they passed the stables and started the long walk over the bridge to the city.

"I almost wish your wife was the Dragonborn even if she is Dunmer," the Nord spat, causing Revyn to freeze and stumble mid-step. "At least she would be based here rather than Whiterun. And with you here that would be our guarantee that she'd not move against us."

Revyn gaped at Icewind. "My... Now that is insane! This Dragonborn nonsense belongs to your people. It was your Atmoran ancestors that worshipped those damn lizards and brought them to Tamriel."

Icewind snarled but visibly checked the move to punch the old mer over the side of the bridge. "It's your damned mer gods that stole our birthright and put it on that Imperial bitch!" he shouted.

"Altmer divines I remind you. We Dunmer turned from the Aedra when we left Alinor. If you have a problem with Akatosh choosing an Imperial over a Nord, take it up with him. Or even better, why don't you ask Talos why he couldn't make sure a Nord—"

Here Icewind did grab him and slam him against a sentry post wall. "Be silent!"

Revyn pressed his lips tightly together and turned his face away. He hung limp in the other's grip until the Nord calmed and dropped him. With a soft, snarled obscenity Icewind walked away from the mer, leaving him slumped on the ground.

Revyn groaned and flexed his aching shoulders while rubbing the back of his head. He brought his hand back around and stared blankly at the blood there. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see a sentry.

"Just as well your wife is not the Dragonborn," this Nord said pleasantly. "Can't imagine Her Snottiness Dragonborn doing what you and your wife did last month, searching in a sleetstorm with trolls and wolves about, digging up roots under the ice so the White Phial could make the medicine our children needed." The sentry squatted down and took a cloth strip from a satchel and wetted it with water from a flask. He gave both to Revyn.

"Go ahead and rest here. I get off in another half hour. I'll help you back if you need it."


	7. Ordination

_AscendedHumanity: True to his name, Icewind is destined to be one of those elements that keep blowing up one's backside at inopportune moments._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

ORDINATION

Alfarinn's carriage made it past the ruins of Valtheim Towers without incident despite the fact the towers were still shrouded in smoke from fires and there were fresh bodies about. Someone had finally rid the place of bandits again, he commented to his passengers. This trip he carried a Dunmer woman and her two children, a Dunmer merchant, and three Nord farmers. The Dunmer were headed for Whiterun, brother and sister teens to a farm outside Whiterun, and the man would walk the rest of the way to Riverwood.

Whiterun finally came into view, Dragonsreach rising high. "Dragon bait," muttered Revyn. Adassa Velot, seated to his right, glanced at him with an amused smile.

"One would think so seeing's how dragons like high places, but they avoid the place," said Alfarinn. "Guess they remember what it was built for."

"Catching dragons!" shouted Merlyn, Adassa's son. "Dragons, dragons," chanted Asha, her daughter. Asha waved her carved, red painted dragon toy in the direction of Whiterun's most prominent feature. She made swooping motions and growling and whooshing sounds. Opposite her, Riverwood bound Ralof rolled his eyes.

"Try not to burn down our new home before we've even moved in," murmured Adassa, catching her daughter up and tickling her. Merlyn plopped on the bench beside his mother and leaned into her to ask again if he'd really have his own room.

"Heard dragons attacked Whiterun," said Devon. "Is that true?" he demanded of Alfarinn.

"Heard same," the carriage driver answered laconically. "We get to Whiterun and if Bjorlam's still there — he's a driver based in Whiterun — you can ask him for the details. He watched the dragon attack one of the city's watchtowers and heard the Dragonborn's first shout. And then we all heard the Graybeards shouting back."

"I was out it the forest cutting wood and missed the dragons that attacked Windhelm a month ago," Devon said sadly.

"Well, if you had done the cutting the day before like you were suppose to you wouldn't have," his sister sniped. "Two dragons!" she proudly told the rest of them. "And the Jarl and the Dragonborn shouted both of them down. The Dragonborn and her friends took the one on the outside and our Jarl got the one inside the city all by himself."

At this Revyn's eyes rolled. "Let's hope no other dragons attack Whiterun," he remarked. "Your aunt and uncle's farm would give you no place to run from a hungry dragon." The two teens shrugged. "They've got cows," said Mina. "If I were a dragon I'd go for big, juicy cows rather than some scrawny humans."

There was a Dunmer wearing typical hunter's hide armor waiting by the road. He stood next to a horse laden with four large bags. When the carriage drew near enough to make out his features Adassa's children began yelling, "Grandfather! Grandfather!"

Revyn looked. "Grandfather" looked young enough to be Adassa's brother. Like Adassa's dramatic white lock of hair on her left temple, he had the white lock left of center on his forehead. As the carriage drew abreast he moved to stand in the way to make Alfarinn stop. Adassa jumped down and rushed over to hug her father. Revyn and Ralof restrained the children from recklessly leaping off after their mother.

"Sit," the mer said sternly to his grandchildren and they settled, their expressions undimmed and expectant. He didn't disappoint and handed two wrapped sticky treats to his daughter to distribute. He then looked to Alfarinn. "Wait here," he ordered. "I took care of the tower lot. There's another group ahead. Relax for a while. You'll be at Whiterun before the end of the day." He brought his horse around to the back and tossed its load onto the carriage floor before remounting it.

"Need help?" asked Ralof, hoisting his wood axe. The mer glanced at him.

"I don't need it, but I'm the last to deny a Nord the taste of battle. Come if you like," the mer said with a daedra's grin. "They're based in a cliff cave overlooking the road. I can take out the lower sentries and the ones near the entrance with my bow while you may the fun of climbing up the hillside through the brush."

"That I can do, friend."

"Then get on." As soon as Ralof was on the horse they took off.

"It shouldn't take long," Adassa said to the rest of them. "My father has fought daedra and ash creatures. A few bandits are nothing to him."

"Ordinator," Revyn said flatly. For the longest time the Ordinators stood for honor, justice, and strength. But during the last decades of the era as the Tribunal was faltering they'd reflected the instability of the Temple; had become intolerant and brutal to maintain control.

"Yes," she confirmed, a touch defiantly, yet her eyes pleaded for understanding. Revyn looked away and instead scanned the surroundings for bandits.

As predicted, the two were soon back and the horse carried two large bags it hadn't before.

"That was fun," Ralof said. He claimed the two bags and stuffed them under his place in the carriage. "My share," he announced. Glancing at Adassa he said, "Your father says he will claim a bounty from Whiterun for those bandits." The mer confirmed this with a disinterested grunt. He had plucked his granddaughter from the carriage and was occupied in showing her a necklace.

"You are coming to Whiterun with us?" Adassa asked her father.

"Yes," he said to his grandchildren's delight. "If you've no objections. I've things to sell and it's a friendlier place than Windhelm. I've been hunting around this place for some weeks. Plenty of honest work to be had. Balgruuf's rule is a hell of a lot easier to stomach than Ulfric's." Adassa's open-mouth expression made clear she hadn't expected any of this. Ralof's expression soured.

Revyn let out a soft sigh and started poking holes in his previously set plans. Adassa he believed was perfect to be the steward of Thane Felix of Whiterun, the Dragonborn, and could be trusted to keep up the pretense that his wife and the Legend were separate people. She had been trained to work in the inner, secretive world of Morrowind high finance where being in a financial red zone meant someone painted your office with your blood.

She had spoken something of her father, Selrun Mor, to him during early interviews, but she had not mentioned he was an Ordinator, merely saying he was a soldier who had returned to the family when his post had eventually fallen and was destroyed. He and other soldiers from his unit had rounded up as many survivors as they could and fought savagely through Argonian ranks to get them to the ships. Once he saw his daughter and her husband settled in Windhelm, he disappeared. And when her husband died, drowned in the Sea of Ghosts when the fishing vessel he worked on sank, her father sent money every month to supplement the meager coins she made pulling cabbages on a farm.

Revyn had met her when she came to sell some of her husband's things and he had recognized the gold seal on an empty ink well.

He wondered if she could keep secrets from her father. They looked to be close, her admiration and love no less than her children's for him. Revyn didn't believe so. The Ordinator would find out soon enough.

Breezehome had been expanded nicely into something more fitting for a Thane of Whiterun. The main level had been expanded for a better dining room/kitchen space and the small room under the stairs likewise expanded to be a business office. The upper level had more bedrooms and an outer deck overlooking the plains district. The cellar was well stocked with miscellaneous house supplies and food.

Revyn waited in one of the partially dug out hidden rooms behind a weapons rack. This hidden area was planned for a room for guests, a bedroom suite for Helsette that would be larger than the official Thane's room on the second floor because here she would store extra armor and weapons, and then there were niches for an enchanter's station and a small alchemy lab. Another office room for books and plans only he, his wife, Lydia, and Adassa would see. Then there would be the entry room for a tunnel that led outside the walls of the city. Not the first such tunnel. The diggers had found the Companions' tunnel that ran from underneath the Skyforge to an exit near the Battle-Born farm.

Lydia and Adassa came in. Her father and her children were exploring the marketplace while she stayed behind to "settle in" things. "I know this was unexpected but my father can be trusted to keep secrets," she assured him. "I haven't told him anything yet, but soon, I hope, with your permission."

"This is difficult for you, I know. But I cannot help but worry. His loyalties, his state of mind... The Tribunal's fall has driven many Ordinators suicidal or unstable. I know of Ordinators in the Gray Quarter and they are among the most bitter and violent there; the ones the Nords seek out and kill because they're too easy to provoke into attack. Not all are insane, but bitter nonetheless; the hopelessness and helplessness eating them alive. When an Ordinator is finally brought to selling what's left of his armor and weapons to me, I see a dead mer walking, and never a redemption."

Adassa couldn't stop a tear. "I know, serjo. I've seen my father's comrades suffer such. All the strength and good they've done, represented, gone with the Tribunal's fall. He's bitter too, and angry, and that's why he couldn't stay with us. He knew he couldn't suppress his anger around the Nords.

"At least not then. He's, he's different. I don't know what happened when he was wandering, but he seems more willing to face life again."

Revyn splayed his hands, palms up, on the tabletop. "Tell him what you must, Adassa. Make him understand what your job entails. Let him know I ask nothing more of him than a blind eye and a closed mouth."

He'd originally planned to stay at the Bannered Mare but a drunken Breton there challenged him to a drinking contest that first night. He'd refused. There was magic about the man made him uneasy and he booked the rest of his stay at the Drunken Huntsman.

Other than escorting Adassa and her children to their new home, the rest of his week was for making as many contacts as he could in Whiterun. He was a merchant from Windhelm looking to make investments. He set out looking for one Ysolda his wife had mentioned, an ambitious, young woman looking to becoming a caravan merchant and who had no apparent problems dealing with non-Nords.

Adassa's father intercepted him just outside the Huntsman's doors. "We talk outside." Revyn reluctantly followed him outside the main gates and through the crumbling outer walls. They walked eastward. "What fine Hlaalu treachery are you dragging my daughter into?"

"I need a competent steward for my wife's money, and I need one based in Whiterun because Windhelm is not the trade center that Whiterun is. As simple as that."

"Simple my arse, Hlaalu. This game to keep your wife and the Dragonborn separate. Too many eyes watching for weakness. A Dunmer Dragonborn spits in the face of Nord pride and says Shor and Talos and their own mother, Kynareth, finds them unworthy.

"So in typical Hlaalu fashion," he snarled, "you are building an escape route. When your wife fulfills their prophesy and kills this king of dragons, you and she will pull out of Skyrim with as much of their gold as you can."

"Typical Indoril paranoia. But, not an implausible assumption," Revyn agreed in a calm, soothing tone. "And you're afraid I'll leave Adassa and the children behind to face the wrath of the Nords." The brisk pace they'd maintained had him working up a sweat and lightly panting, and just a well as it masked the chill of his skin and forced him to breathe through the dizziness he felt under the other's narrowed glare. He'd welcome a slaughter of cliffracers right about now.

The Honningbrew Meadery was coming up and Revyn invited the other to join him in sampling drinks. In general the stuff was too sweet for Dunmer tastes but it was good enough to put up a fight against the Black-Briar brand. Revyn seriously considered the business for investment but there was something about the owner he didn't like. Something about the intensity of hate and loathing in the eyes of the servant sweeping the floor.

They headed back towards Whiterun. Revyn told the Ordinator how his father ran caravans into the Ashlands, took a Zainab bride like his father had. How faith in his family went back to original three Princes. It estranged his branch of the family somewhat from the rest, but the profit they made in Ashland trade kept them respectable. Plus, they publicly attended the proper services; faithfully paid the Temple its due.

He showed the Ordinator the necklace he wore under his clothes. Bone charms carved from his mother's family, some as old from the days of Velothi, and glass beads made of the ashes from of his father's ancestral tomb now forever lost under the tons of ash from Red Mountain. The Ordinator, also a skilled destruction mage, detected and acknowledged the latent ancestral power in that priceless treasure and appeared satisfied when Revyn swore by the bones of his ancestors and by the Princes that his fears were groundless; this Hlaalu was here to stay and would not betray allies.

An unmistakable shadow glided over mountains and rivers and they were buffeted in the wake of giant wings. They and anyone else on the road went to cover. The dragon skirted the walls of the city and inspected the farmlands. It snatched an unfortunate cow and carried it eastward.

"Your wife needs to take care of that."

"Well, technically anyone can kill it, but it will just resurrect again. Why don't you try? I'm sure you can keep it dead long enough for her to get back here to eat its soul."

"Is there a bounty on it?"

"Probably, but even Whiterun doesn't pay out more than the market rate that you'd get on your typical bandit leader. A laughable pittance for all the danger as you know. Your best bet is to find where the dragon lairs. They can shit out quite a bit treasure if you're not squeamish. That one is heading to Shearpoint. My wife killed the previous tenants and this must be the new one."

"Might as well. I'll need something to live on while I'm finding a job around here."

He went off in the direction of Shearpoint and Revyn returned to Breezehome at the same time Adassa and Lydia returned from Dragonsreach after meeting Proventus Avenicci, the steward of Whiterun. They were carrying the books the Jarl's steward had maintained and bags of letters for the Dragonborn sent in care of the palace.

"It went well with Avenicci?" he asked the ladies.

"It did, sir," answered Lydia. "Adassa's knowledge of finance impressed him. The Jarl also graced us with his attention and seemed amused at his thane hiring her own steward."

"He remarked that it was 'about time,'" Adassa added.

"Excellent. Did you get a chance to speak with Irileth?" he asked Lydia.

"Yes. She's interested in the possibility of having an ex-Ordinator —"

Adassa started, looking alarmed.

"— in the Whiterun Guards. With the dragon activity rising and my Thane not being exclusively available to handle all the sightings in the hold, an experienced daedra killer would be a welcome substitute."

"Ah. Good. Now I just need to broach the subject with Selrun. We managed to reach some level of trust this morning and I'd hate to lose it by unintentionally insulting him."

"Serving Whiterun would be an insult?" Lydia challenged with a frown.

"Being reduced to a common guard when you were an Ordinator—"

"A High Ordinator!" Adassa thrust in.

Revyn sat down, feeling faint.

"Sir? What's wrong?" asked Lydia.

"Oh, nothing. Just realizing how close to the edge of a cliff I was running this morning," he replied to her confusion. He glanced at Adassa. "Just as well I didn't know that."

"A High Ordinator..." Lydia began.

"The Ordinators, the Temple warriors, have few equals in Morrowind. The High Ordinators were the best of them as warriors and as battle mages. The only rank above them we call The Hands of Almalexia, the personal guards of the gods," Adassa explained. "I'm sure no insult is intended, Lydia, but understand my father is used to taking orders from living gods, not mortals." She laughed softly and looked at Revyn. "He still has them, his armor and sword," she said.

"Oh. Um, good. I hope he has them somewhere at hand because he's headed off to kill a dragon by himself."

"Oh. Poor dragon then." Seeing Lydia's concerned look, Adassa smiled. "I know, I know, only the Dragonborn can kill a dragon permanently, but father's in no danger of being eaten. And when the Dra-, when our Thane returns she can make the final kill."

Lydia grunted, accepting that. "So then you think he wouldn't be interested in a becoming a Whiterun guard even in the interest of, say, protecting the new home of his daughter and grandchildren."

"I don't know. He did appear resigned to settling hereabouts," said Revyn.

"Then he should be speaking with Irileth. He sounds like he needs to speak warrior to warrior about this, not to a merchant. Especially to a Dunmer warrior who's been with Balgruuf since the Great War.

"No offense, sir," she added.

"You are absolutely right, Lydia. Irileth sounds like the perfect one to close the deal. Can you arrange it?"

"Of course, sir." Revyn smiled, his hands saying, "all yours."

+—+—+—+—+

Alfarinn's carriage slowed to a halt for someone on the road. "A problem?" he asked.

"Just looking for a thieving fetcher."

Revyn's ears perked, recognizing the voice. He looked to see a Whiterun guard. Only by the exposed arms and legs could one tell it was a Dunmer.

Suddenly the man next to him bolted over the side of the carriage and started running. The guard lazily lifted his left arm and shot a bolt of ice that struck the runner on the buttocks, felling him. "Thank you for your cooperation, citizen," Selrun drawled.

"Go about your business," he said to Alfarinn. To Revyn, "But I'm watching you."


	8. Credit Lines

DISCLAIMER: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

CREDIT LINES

"Ah, Ysolda, is it?"

"Go choke on a mudcrab, Nazeem." She did not need this. She absolutely did not need him souring her mood today.

"Pardon?"

"I said—" she whirled around and yipped in surprise at seeing a bemused Dunmer instead of a pompous Redguard.

The Dunmer smiled and tilted his head to one side, simple gestures that cast an aura of whimsy over his dark, sharp features. Ysolda admitted to herself that she'd have been charmed if the sun hadn't caught his eyes in such as way that the glint in the crimson depths reminded her of the way the Khajiit caravaner, Ri'saad grinned on taking down a fat sale.

"Sorry to have startled you. I'm Revyn Sadri. I know we were to meet in the Bannered Mare later this afternoon but someone pointed you out to me and I thought, well, now might be as good a time as any. But if you have business to attend to and I'm delaying you, I apologize. We can talk later as previously arranged."

"Oh, no, no, I'm so sorry," Ysolda hastened to assure him. "I'm just delivering some supplies to Dragonsreach. I didn't mean to insult you. I mean..."

"Mr. Nazeem. Yes, we met at the Drunken Huntsman. I made the mistake of mentioning that I was making investments in Whiterun." The look on his face had Ysolda laughing. Then Revyn waved Nazeem aside.

"But going to Dragonsreach are you? May I accompany you? I have some business there myself with the Court Wizard."

Ysolda gave him her brightest smile. "Well, come along then," she said.

There weren't many Dunmer in Whiterun, most living outside the city. The ones she was most familiar with were the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth, and the mercenary, Janessa at the Drunken Huntsman; both were grim and not very social. Then there was the Dunmer Companion she'd seen around but never talked to. The only other Dunmer she'd interacted with was Helsette Faro, Sadri's wife, and she was a merry sort. She reminded Ysolda of Ria of the Companions — young, enthusiastic, and happiest with the prospect of imminent mayhem.

Sadri, however, was visibly very mature. Hard to tell with elves but she was sure this one had to be over a couple centuries at least. He was friendly though and agreeably chatty. He didn't immediately touch upon business but instead seemed to want general gossip; light questions about herself, the city, the politics, and, of course, about the Dragonborn. She asked him his impression Whiterun, his business background, and anything he'd care to share about his wife who was making a name for herself as a bandit hunter and treasure finder and a rival to the Companions when it came to "hero work."

They came to the palace and parted ways, agreeing to keep their appointment later today to talk business.

+—+—+—+—+

Farengar slammed the small desk drawer shut as he wondered again where he'd mislaid that copy of a word wall rubbing from a week ago. And unfamiliar voice called out from the main public room of his quarters: "Drem yol lok, zin kro."

Dragon? Who was speaking dragon? He went into the main room and saw an elderly Dunmer standing in the doorway.

"You have a reason for disturbing me?" he asked.

The mer smiled said, "I have a delivery from Helsette, my wife. She found some items she knew might interest you." He entered the room and set a small chest on the desk. He opened it and handed Farengar the book lying on top. _Dragon Language: Myth No More_ by _Hela Thrice-Versed_. Farengar read. His excitement flared. He eagerly opened the book to see neatly scribed dragon language rewritten in phonetic Tamrielic and then the translations. A key! An honest-to-gods key.

"Where did you get this? I've been trying for months to get a copy from the College but they said the book was missing. I've even written to the schools in Cyrodiil but turned up empty."

"On Solstheim, deep in a Dwemer ruin overrun with little savages. Another word wall and a black, thrice-damned book by the Prince of Forbidden Knowledge. And, no, the black book is not one of the things she sent. If you're foolish enough to want to see it, you'll have her ask her directly next time she's here."

Farengar blinked, mildly startled at the angry edge in the mer's tone. "I appreciate knowledge but I'm not an utter fool," he replied. "She's welcome to keep Hermaeus Mora's black book wherever she keeps his sister's whispering sword." He forced himself to put the book down for later study. Something else had snagged his attention. "Wife? Helsette Faro is your wife?" As one of the few in Whiterun who knew the mercenary Faro and the Dragonborn Felix were the same woman, it stirred a bit more than polite, superficial interest in the other.

The mer smiled. "She is. Allow me to introduce myself: Revyn Sadri, a merchant from Windhelm, originally from Vivec City, Morrowind. With all the trouble my dear treasure hunter involves herself in, it behooves me to follow up and establish connections. Just making sure there are resources readily available to her."

"I see." There had been talk that the Dragonborn had been expanding Breezehome and had just recently moved in a Dunmer woman and her children. The woman was to be the Thane's financial and estate manager and handle the Dragonborn's correspondence that previously Proventus and his clerical staff had been handling. "So you're not staying in Whiterun," he concluded.

"Oh, no. I'm well established in Windhelm. I'm here just to set up accounts with the merchants in Whiterun, considering how much business my wife does in this city. Speaking as a merchant myself, it's always reassuring to know that there's someone or somewhere to send bills to."

"Perhaps you should be talking with Proventus Avenicci then," Farengar suggested. A look of mild reproach entered the Dunmer's eyes.

"I'm sure the Jarl's steward has more important people to talk to than a common mercenary, unless she's here to claim a bounty of course."

Farengar frowned. He hated these types of games, but he made the connections easily enough. And his office was without doors to the main hall so no telling who might be listening. "Hm, yes. Well, tell Ms. Faro that I am grateful for her consideration and I'm sure I can find some recompense. But what are these other things?"

"Oh, heartstones only found on Solstheim. Here, this scroll explains what she's found about them from her studies with Telvanni Master Neloth. Magic infused ice chips called 'stahlrim' that locals mine and forge to create armor and weapons hard as ebony but a fraction of the weight. This scroll describes something the locals call 'earth stones' and she has questions she'd like your opinions on. Oh, and a list of other questions that she believes you may have some historical insights being that you're a Nord."

"There are Nords at Winterhold College," Farengar stiffly pointed out.

The Dunmer shrugged. "Minority. Anyone knows that most there are mer, Imperials, and Bretons. And the only Nord magister there is a bit, um, distracted.

"You practice openly here in Whiterun, in a city the Companions founded, and are as proud and stubborn as any of your warrior kin. There's enough in mer history to know that Atmoran mages were nothing to laugh about during the early wars. My wife has said that though sometimes she's tempted to hit you over the head with a mace because you can be so, um, 'such an ice-brain Nord,' your work is thorough and solid."

"I suppose I should be flattered she holds me in such high regard."

"So perhaps you won't be so irritated when she invades your office at all hours to use your enchanter's table?"

"A small price." Farengar reluctantly conceded, "She's far more talented than I am in that field."

"She was trained by the best in Morrowind. I think somewhere she mentions an invention of an staff enchanting table created with heartstones.

"Anyway, I've taken quite a bit of your time, sir, with idle chatter. Here, my address in Windhelm should you ever feel the need to contact me, like, if you wanted more stahlrim or heartstone samples."

A bit more of 'idle chatter' that normally would have Farengar fuming with impatience, but he was curious about this mer who was married to the dichotomy that was the fiery, irreverent Faro and the icy, arrogant Felix. At the end of it he escorted the mer to door and looked out to the court to see the Jarl and his brother both looking back towards them. Proventus wasn't around and the other thanes and courtiers there weren't of any importance. And by those looks he knew he'd be talking to the Jarl later.

He wondered at the hidden patterns he couldn't see but knew were there and wondered what Jarl Balgruuf will think when they talked later. It was, after all, his job to counsel the Jarl on things magical and especially on loose dragons flying about the land.

+—+—+—+—+

"... If I had a sister, I'd sell her in a second."

"Has anyone ever taken you up on that offer? Honestly." The skinny Dunmer strutted around his shop with a fussy look on his face. Belethor maintained a cheerful grin while trying to figure out the other's game. He'd heard the rumors. This Dunmer was a Windhelm merchant in town making investments. Word is he was a long-time, barely scraping by pawnshop dealer who'd married into money and was in tight with the Windhelm branch of the East Empire Company. Now he dressed like a rich merchant and affected that better-than-you attitude that most mer had.

"I'll see those," the mer pointed to a bone and jewel necklace in a case, a bone handled ebony blade, and a ceramic urn decorated with strange insects and lizards. These were all pieces from Morrowind recently purchased from a mercenary. To his surprise, the mer offered exactly the price he'd originally paid for the goods. Insultingly low ball. He ventured a higher price, pointing out the quality of the goods.

The red eyes narrowed. "The items were stolen," he was informed in a pleasant voice. "The one who sold them to you is dead and had already spent most of the money you paid him. The owners want their property back and are willing to reimburse you the coin you paid out. No loss, plenty of gain. I suggest you accept."

"Oh, come now, you know I can hardly run a successful business just by breaking even. And what proof do you have that these goods were stolen?"

"Two ebony swords, bought for 250, resold 750. A diamond ring, 300, resold 900. Two bottles of 200-year-old Cyrodilic Brandy, 20, resold 1000." The mer rattled off more. Belethor reached for his ledger, finding the items. All the items were recent purchases from the pretty Dunmer mercenary with little bargaining skills and naively unaware of the value of her "junk" that she sold him.

The mer was smiling a seemingly pleasant smile. "If you want to keep doing business with my wife, I suggest you accept the exchange for the sake of continuing relations."

Belethor managed a credibly hearty laugh. "Your wife, hey? Well, well. Congratulations!" _You damn, lucky dog. How'd you manage that?_ "She's always a delight to deal with. And just for her I'm happy to sell you these fine items at cost."

"Why thank you, Belethor. The name's Revyn Sadri by the way." He shrugged slightly. "My love often presents me with more items than I can sell in Windhelm due to the quality. Whiterun has so much a broader market that can afford high-end merchandise and I am looking to expand distribution outlets here as well as in Solitude. Perhaps we might be able to do further business. If you're interested, you can find me at the Drunken Huntsman for the next couple of days. In any case, I'll stop by again before I leave to discuss opening a line of credit for my wife."

"Oh, we'll be talking soon," Belethor assured him with a grin, genuine this time.

+—+—+—+—+

"Welcome to Warmaiden's," said the bearish Nord behind the counter. The handsome woman seated a bit further back with a tankard in her hand chimed in, "Have a look around. We should have something that suits you."

Husband and wife exchanged doubtful glances. The Dunmer in rich merchant's clothing was hardly the type to be interested in battle steel, and he already had what looked to be a fine quality knife at his side. Though the hilt was a simple braided leather cord wrap, the pommel and guard looked like ice which they both recognized as stahlrim, a rare mineral from Solstheim.

"Revyn Sadri, Faro's husband," the Dunmer said, smiling. He came to them, right hand extended and clasped forearms with Adrianne first then Ulfberth. "A pleasure to meet the two of you. My wife speaks often of your tolerance and generosity in letting her use your forge and tools at all hours of the day."

"She's welcome to," said Adrianne, offering him a tankard of ale which he accepted and took a healthy swig from. "She pays for the what she uses and she treats my tools with proper respect."

"And she brings in armor and weapons in saleable condition unlike most wanderers who bring stuff we have to repair," said Ulfberth. His gaze swept over the Dunmer again, a male assessing another's male role to his mate. He grinned, liking what he saw.

"Huh. Bet you're as proud of her as I am of my Adrianne. Best blacksmith in Whiterun, White-Mane not withstanding," he boasted. Adrianne rolled her eyes but her smile at her husband was bright with affection.

"My dear wife agrees. So I have a proposition I would like to present to you.

"I've heard from contacts in Blacklight that one or two master armorers and weaponsmiths are interested in touring Skyrim for about a year to observe Nord techniques, and they will be accompanied by their most promising apprentices. Would you be willing to act as a host while they are here? And by host I mean someone they can reliably consult about customs, histories, and perhaps provide safe storage for things they collect until the time they return to Morrowind."

"Huh. Adrianne?" Ulfberth looked to his wife. She looked intrigued.

"I'm always eager to learn new techniques if they're willing to share," she said, looking back at him. "I doubt Nords would be interested in chitin armor like Helsette wears, but I would like to learn more about Dunmer armor just out of personal curiosity. It's so different than the Altmer stuff that comes through here."

"Bugs, Adrianne. Big creepy-crawlies."

"Hush, Ulfberth. You sound like Farkas."

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," Ulfberth said, abashed. "Helsette's too cute to be a bug," he added, looking at Revyn who merely laughed.

"Yes, Morrowind does have an abundance of insects."

"At least it doesn't stink like Falmer armor," Ulfberth muttered.

"Agreed. It took days to clear the air in my shop when my wife brought a set home.

"You don't need to commit now. Just think about it. I'll be at the Drunken Huntsman until the end of this week. Just wave me down if you see me or leave a message there if you want me to come by. Thanks for the drink."

+—+—+—+—+

Ysolda thought she could see what about this mer could possibly attract Helsette. Sure, this one was incredibly old compared to his wife, but there was that old-world charm and courtesy, the confidence that came with maturity, and a gambler's streak that matched his young bride's.

Now they talked trade. Despite an old bargain that she bring him a mammoth bone, Ri'saad hadn't yet helped her get her own caravan, although he was quite willing to discuss the technicalities in running a caravan versus selling from a fixed location.

"I think he sees me as competition," she confided. "I can get into cities, possibly steal customers. I've told him I'm willing to coordinate schedules so that we do not visit at the same time; or, I'll take the small towns and villages that they don't travel to."

"A reasonable proposal. Have you yet gathered your team, another merchant willing to throw in with you?"

"Um, no, not yet. I've just been saving money for goods to sell."

"Have you talked to people who are interested?"

"Well, I have people who are willing to loan me money but no interest in traveling with me. One or two, I think, would be willing to try. But truthfully, none of us yet have much in the way of fighting skills if we were to encounter robbers."

"I have people who are interested in taking up caravanning again. Dunmer of course. They are all experienced, but only in Morrowind. They are not fully comfortable among Nords, are still learning the customs and language, and, of course, they know very little about the land, terrain, and politics. On the other hand, they all know combat and bring other skills such as potion-making, weaving and tailoring, crafting, carving, leatherworking, jewelry-making, tinkering and small blacksmithing. Not to insult you, but they know a Nord leader and face will be necessary for them to prosper."

"Truly? Oh, but you don't really know me to take that risk," she said regretfully.

"Quite. But I do know the leader of the group I am proposing to connect you with; she's a womer whose family traded in the ashlands for as long as mine. And my wife has faith that you'll be more than a mere figurehead once you've got your feet on the road. I believe her. She knows a fighter when she sees one.

"Now, you don't have to answer me n—"

"Done! When can I meet these people?"

"Wonderful! I'll tell them to head over as soon as I'm back in Win— Aack!"

Ysolda couldn't help herself from jumping up and dragging the mer out of his chair and giving him an enthusiastic, unrestrained bearhug. Laughter and jeers erupted from other patrons in the Bannered Mare.

"Time to party!" exclaimed a black robed Breton. "Here, drinks on me!"

"Nk! Nrg!" One of the mer's spastically jerking arms knocked the tankard being extended to Ysolda to the ground.

"Easy there, Ysolda, you'll break the old guy," exclaimed Ulfberth, laughing and shouldering the Breton aside and loosening Ysolda's crushing embrace. The Dunmer collapsed into Adrianne's arms. She bore him up easily and settled him back in his chair.

"I'm going to have my own caravan!" Ysolda announced to a healthy round of cheers.

"Hooray," the Dunmer wheezed and quietly collapsed over the table. Adrianne sighed and picked him up to haul him to the Temple of Kynareth so that Priestess Danica could see to whatever ribs Ysolda had cracked.


	9. Barrowed Trouble

_Shamangirl1: Yep. But Helsette in no way wants to snuggle with Nazeem._

 _AnotherGuest: Well, I was kinda thinking technically of fractured floating rib cartilage._

DISCLAIMER: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

BARROWED TROUBLE

"I only shoved the s'wit and he went down screaming like I'd gutted him,' grumbled the Dunmer in the cell. The guards had the mer shackled to the wall with wrist and ankle cuffs as if he were madman. "And the cuts and bruises were old!"

"Well, they daren't arrest Helsette, so you were just as good," said Revyn.

"All this fuss over a stinking, drunken Nord."

"Unfortunately, the fellow is one of Rolff Stone-Fist's drinking buddies. Rolff's brother is Galmar Stone-Fist, the Jarl's housecarl and foremost general of the Stormcloaks."

"And this Rolff..."

"You ignore him if you can. Harmless compared to his brother. It's an effective racket — they let these louts wander the Gray Quarter at night shouting their insults and anybody that reacts to them gets marked as troublemakers. React too many times gets you merely kicked out of the city if they're being nice about it. The guards are there more for their protection than ours."

"Helsette mentioned beating him up once."

"The Nords here respect her as a hero. She gets a pass. You'll get some leeway once it's known that you're working for her, but for now you're damn lucky they didn't slate you right off for the Pit."

"What pit?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. Pit fights. Bandits, captured Imperials and Imperial loyalists with no information or other trade value, any criminal that no one will miss or who can't pay their fines or slated to be executed anyway. And violent, troublesome Dunmer."

Revyn paced around the cell, irritated. The guards were taking their sweet time. It had been at least two hours since he'd paid the fines for his wife's newest companion/follower. Ralis Sedarys. Helsette had collected him on Solstheim after he had cost them over 11,000 drakes in a business partnership to recover ancient Nord artifacts from a barrow buried under tons of ash. The guards had Ralis stripped to light undershirt and pants but Revyn knew there was locked away in some evidence trunk an expensive set of chitin armor, pickaxe, bow, and ebony sword.

And right now Helsette was at Winterhold College catching up on coursework. She'd left Ralis behind in Windhelm so that he and Revyn could get better acquainted and for Revyn to teach him the finer details of keeping up "the play."

It wasn't going very well. Ralis saw him as an ancient, skinny, prissy shopkeeper unworthy of the womer he was married to. He thought Ralis was a fetching idiot for taking on an archeological venture he was so ill-equipped for. And then there was the fact that the other was a young 60, much closer to his wife's age, presentable enough if you liked the lean, wiry types. He would be in her company on long trips and dangerous situations. In the pressure of danger and in the aftermath of battle, things could happen.

The only giving point that Revyn stepped back on was that the mer had taken the job as a way to get in the good graces of the family of the womer he wanted to marry. That, Revyn could sympathize with. In his own case he was lucky that Helsette chose the Nord custom of quick courtship/fast marriage rather than making him go for months or even years courting the approval of her kinfolk in Cyrodiil as per proper custom.

All right, he was jealous and would happily see the younger mer gone even if it meant never recovering the drakes. Helsette had already recovered the coveted treasure of Ahzidal from the tomb anyway.

Ralis had been oddly blind to that. Whenever Helsette came back to the dig after he'd sent couriers after her becaase of trouble, he seemed oddly indifferent to the wealth found in the barrow but obsessive about just getting down to the bottom of the barrow where lied Ahzidal.

So she'd taken responsibility for him when the Redoran Guards, under pressure from the families of missing miners and mercs of the Kolbjorn dig, had arrested him for multiple murders. Convinced of his innocence based on her reading of his journals and with her previous experience with another tomb being excavated by enthralled Vigilants of Stendarr, she'd defended him. Loudly. At the top of her lungs until they changed their minds and changed the charge to negligence and misadventure. No headsman's axe, but fines for each death until the amount was in the tens of thousands. With the help of First Councilor Morvayn of Raven Rock, a deal was struck with the Redoran investigators from Blacklight.

The terms of the deal were fairly simple: Ralis agreed to indentured service to Helsette. She paid him the going mercenary rates for jobs she took him on and he got a percentage of treasure from those jobs. Pay and treasure cut would go to a fund managed by Councilor Morvayn who would then pay out fines and claimants.

This only worked because Ralis's journals cleared her of any active collusion in the deaths; because First Councilor Morvayn personally swore to her honorable conduct in recent events and Second Councilor Arano presented proof obtained from his many sources that heretofor Sedarys's reputation was good as an honorable, law-abiding mercenary and bodyguard; and because as a recent inductee of House Telvanni, House Redoran had no legal authority over Helsette, especially as her Telvanni lord cared little about the deaths of inconsequential servants and only that she triumphed against her opponents.

So Revyn reluctantly had to put up with the fact that this mer was going to be trailing after his wife for the next decade or more if he didn't die along the way.

"Er, Revyn, how much longer will it take the guards to release me?" asked Ralis in an uncharacteristically meek and small voice.

"In a hurry are we?"

"I've been needing to piss for hours and I'm about to lose it! These s'wits..."

Revyn sighed loudly and picked up the bucket.

+—+—+—+—+

"So he's a day late. Is that a reason for us to be out here to invade a barrow?" Sedarys grumbled yet again. Revyn had little sympathy for Sedarys's aversion to barrows. The other mer was in full chitin armor that had been enchanted against Skyrim's cold weather while he was in normal clothing and everything below his knees was freezing in the snow.

"Because I said I'd investigate if he was late," Revyn snarled again. "He's a college scholar, not an adventurer. He only went at it alone because Helsette wasn't available to go with him — and she would have if she were — and no Nord merc would go into a tomb that, one, is the tomb of one of Ysgramor's sons and, two, known to be haunted by sea ghosts."

"And you promised. Why?"

"Because I felt like it. You know, if you really didn't want to come along there's no way I could have forced you."

"Hah. You're her husband. No telling what she'd do to me if I let you go it alone and you got yourself killed."

"And you were bored in Windhelm and spoiling for another fight."

"That too," Sedarys acknowledged with a harsh laugh.

"Good. Now shut up; we're finally here." The tomb was built into the hillside, the entrance marked with a circular altar upon which Nords laid their tokens of respect, currently a weathered book, a couple of coins, and tarnished ring, some plants, and a rabbit pelt. Revyn firmly set down a bottle of mead and marched past the massive, crude dragon carvings (looked like horkers to him) and a lit brazier to duck under the boulders overhanging the entrance.

Twisting ice tunnels, empty stone coffins — so far so good. The floating blue orb lights, the infamous sea ghosts, provided faint illumination as well as unnerving, soft tones. Possibly commenting on the foolishness of the latest intruders. Then they came to the room where they found a dead Winterhold scholar and a dying Nord.

"Damn," said Revyn as he squatted down and examined the body of the Altmer. Blood and a swollen lump on the back of the head; bruises, broken skin and teeth consistent with interrogation; torn wrists where the Altmer had worked free of his bonds; and the multiple stab wounds in chest and the final dagger in the gut. The Nord was dying from deep, roasting burns.

Sedarys hauled the Nord to sit up against a wall and poured into him a small healing potion to ease the pain. "What went on here?" he asked the Nord. The Nord replied with a weak string of obscenities. "Right. You're dying and neither of us are healers. But here's the thing, I know just enough to keep you alive and make it a real long time before you expire. So you can tell me now or I can wait all night and all through tomorrow until you die." The tale was a simple one, easily pieced from the fragments the Nord gave out.

The Nord was part of a marauder crew that currently was based out of a wrecked, half sunken ship near the other end of the barrow. They'd been using that end of the barrow to stash their treasure, part in a chest and the other more valuable pieces thrown in through the bars of the final chamber. The only way to retrieve that treasure was to go through the front entrance, thread the puzzles, and use the coral dragon claw on the final puzzle. There was an argument among the crew and some left, stealing the claw away with them.

This particular Nord had been at Candlehearth when the high elf had come through looking to hire somebody. He'd shown the claw during one hiring attempt and the bandit had recognized it. Thinking it a chance to steal the best of the treasure for himself, he'd followed the elf. But the skinny, effete scholar was tougher and more stubborn than he'd expected. Wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't tell him how to solve the riddles. Then he'd managed to free himself and flamed the Nord good.

When there was nothing else to tell, Sedarys stepped aside and Revyn gave the marauder a bottle of mead, this one laced with painkillers and a strong sleeping potion. The man fell asleep and soon after stopped breathing.

"Ancient Nords and their damn traps." Sedarys wandered the perimeter of the room and kicked at one pillar in its niche dripping with water. There were two other such pillars in niches, one which glowed with a beam of sunlight and another in shadow and almost immovable by the grass and moss growing around it. A fourth niche had a stone chair. "Find anything in the scholar's notes?"

"Scholarly speculations, historical notes. But here, this is his translation of the Atmoran tablet on this trigger base: _Man in his throne, so should he be; Whale in the sea, so should he be; Eagle in the sun's sky; so should he be; Snake in the weed, so should he be_." The two mer looked again at the pillars and without saying anything they each headed for the nearest and rotated them — bird in the sunlight, whale in the water, snake in the grass. Revyn sat on the throne and Ralis put his helmet back on and pulled the trigger handle. Air hissed through hidden dart holes but nothing came out. The gate opened.

"I think we might need to split up here." Revyn thoughtfully studied the claw, holding it into the light so that its crystal claws scattered light about the chamber. He then tossed it to Ralis. "The bandit mentioned a seaside entrance to this barrow and the final room they'd been throwing treasure into. He did say also that at times they'd come back and the bodies had moved about. I propose that I find this back entrance and that room. If the draugr in there are in fact active, I may be able to weaken them before you enter there." Revyn tapped the staff he'd been using as a walking stick against the ground. "Conjuration staff. A frost monster. I also know the spell to conjure a fire wolf."

"Oh, and I get the fun of running this barrow alone through gods know what then?"

"I know it's not ideal but I'm trusting you're as fast with your weapons as you were with our money." Ralis wordlessly snarled. Revyn ignored this, continuing, "I'd only get in your way. You think you can handle any other Nordic puzzles?"

"If they're the typical stuff only something with dust for brains couldn't figure, yes. All right, you go around then and distract whatever's at the final room. I won't enter it unless I hear fighting or you shouting it's safe to come in."

Revyn sat back down on the throne and rummaged through his pack for more warming potions and a thick woolen bag carrying a sealed pot of spicy hot stew. He gave half to Ralis. "Eat," he ordered. "We've got a lot to do.

"Old as I am, it's going to take me some hours just to get to the coast and then find that entrance. So in the meantime you take the scholar's body back and deliver it to the Priestess of Arkay for storage. Tell my assistant Savela to close the shop for the rest of the day after her shift ends. Finally, the docks. Ask around for Walks-Many-Marshes and tell him what we're about and to say nothing to the other Argonians for now. He can help us with transporting any treasure back in his skiff. After that, come back here and go to it. You, I mean. He should take the skiff directly around.

"And give me your boots. I can barely feel my feet. If I'm going to be wading in these waters along the shoreline, I want something waterproof and warm. Take the Nord's boots. They look good enough for a trek back to Windhelm. You can grab a better pair from the shop. Ask Savela to show you the best ones."

Outside the barrow he could hear the growls of bears and the grunts of trolls, and he was thankful for another of his wife's gifts which was a ring with her strongest enchantments for stealth and endurance. He jogged east along the river, following it to the coast and then headed south. Now here he was more careful because there was often no beach to walk on and he wasn't prepared for a swim in ice water. But there were small islands on which to travel. Plenty of them, along with cats, bears, and wolves. He could hear clusters of massive horkers calling to each other. He finally spotted crumbling ruins against the cliff side. The door was just above a narrow strip of land and on the isle about a hundred feet away was a three-way battle of cat, bear, and horkers. Southeast of the towers he could see the wreck of a war ship. He hoped the marauders there didn't need to visit the tomb tonight.

The lock of the tower was average but tellingly well-oiled from regular use. Down the winding tower stairs. The huge chest as promised. The lock on that was a bit more advanced so Revyn ignored it for now. He shoved a lit torch through the bars of the tomb with enough force for it to slide and tumble up against the booted feet of a seated draugr. Dead eyes flared with unholy light and the creature slowly stood. He shoved the tip of the conjuration staff through the bars and sent a frost atronach in. Then daringly inserted his hands through the bars and summoned a fire wolf, the spell his wife made him learn. The wolf was a fireball on four feet, tracking and pursuing until it ended with a leap and bite that exploded over its target like liquid fire.

The Yngol deathlord was a nightmare of devastating shouts and frost-wreathed greatsword. But the grille held solid and he was able to duck to the side to avoid the shouting. The other draugr roused, some stabbing through the grille to get to Revyn. The staff was soon drained and he hadn't packed any soulgems to recharge it. All he had left was the fire wolf spell. The ancestral necklace he always wore next to his skin was infused with power that, among other things, enhanced conjurations; two wolves at a time, but with the number of draugr in there the wolves exploded almost as fast as he could summon them and he was rapidly becoming exhausted. He was also becoming light-headed from the smoke of roasting rotted meat.

Sedarys finally arrived, Hoarfrost pickaxe in his left and the flaming ebony sword in his right. What remained of the lesser draugr stood no chance. His speed and dual weapons skill was precise and powerful. Against the Yngol deathlord he ducked and rolled with the shouts to come up swinging and soon cut a leg from deathlord then hooked the sternum with the pickaxe; hoarfrost covered the penetration site like white, fuzzy rot, then a twist of the pickaxe to shatter the ribcage. He spent a bit of time searching for a lever or a pull-chain to open the gate but it wasn't until he pulled the enchanted helmet off Yngol's corpse that the gate opened.

As they were piling the treasure scattered about in the room into another chest recovered from within the tomb, Walks-Many-Marshes came down the stairs with a warning that the marauders were getting ready to move. He'd parked the skiff on the land strip below the door and had swum out to the war ship and had seen them readying their small boats tied under the broken ship's hull. He'd poked holes in the boats before coming here.

He let Sedarys and Marshes do the treasure hauling. Once the treasure was out the room and up the stairs to the skiff he told them to head out. He wanted to reseal the tomb if he could because the Nords, if they found out the tomb of their beloved Ysgramor's son violated, would come asking as it was no secret Helsette explored ancient tombs.

He put the helm back on Yngol and moved the corpse to an empty coffin. The gate resealed and he jammed old daggers into the slots and used a mace to hammer them in then break off the hilts. He and Sedarys would come back later with buckets of bonemold resin to fills the slots. There was no way to raise the stone puzzle doors so he just dropped the key claw in an ice water pool in the tomb and threaded through the tunnels to the initial gate in the pillar room. Got that gate to raise again, so same plan with the gate and pillars.

He actually made it back to Windhelm before the other two, which meant the youngsters had stayed out late to play with the marauders. Ralis confirmed this when he showed up at noon to inform Revyn that Marshes was waiting with the skiff halfway down the river. They'd both been leery about pulling into the docks with the chests with the guards watching. There was also the body they'd recovered of a fisherwoman from a cage on the ship, a Nord woman Marshes knew and whom Revyn also knew once told her name.

Revyn ordered him to get back to Marshes and dump the Yngol chests into the water for later retrieval but keep the marauder chest and the body and return to the docks. They were to be ready for and submit to apprehension by the guards. When questioned, tell the story but omit the part about the treasure inside the last room, invading Yngol's barrow beyond the gate, and about fighting draugr. Modify the part about the tower — yes, after they'd retrieved the scholar's body they'd gone looking for it and engaged Marshes's help, but the marauders had already taken the treasure from the tower. It was Sedarys's and Marshes's idea to take on the marauders while Revyn was told to return to Windhelm because he was too old to be of any use in a fight.

That was the story he told Jorlief, Jarl Ulfric's steward. The story was faithfully corroborated by the Marshes and Sedarys who had been questioned separately by the officer of the prison guards. Guards sent to the barrow attested to the locked gate and the corpse of the Nord found there. The Priestess of Arkay confirmed the state of the Altmer's body. More guards sent to the war ship confirmed the bodies there and the state of the ruined tower, of the drag marks of a heavy chest up through the tower and along the shore.

Both Sadri and Marshes confirmed the identity of the Nord woman and Sadri presented a plea to the Jarl that the majority of the treasure be given to the family the woman had been the primary support of, which consisted of her parents, her late Stormcloak husband's parents, and her two children. Marshes should get a bounty for his part and Sedarys a full pardon and, perhaps, a refund of the fines paid. It would help Sadri, after all, in shipping the dead scholar's body back to Winterhold.

+—+—+—+—+

"He's a slick bastard, I'll give him that," said Ralis. He eyed dubiously the small plate of raw fish and pickled bits of vegetable rolled in seaweed Marshes had handed him. The Argonian Embassy was celebrating Walks-Many-Marshes cut of the recovered treasure and his "commendation of service" received instead of the bounty Revyn had been pushing for. The latter didn't mean much; it still didn't give them permission to enter the city, but it was good for a laugh. Revyn and Ralis had been invited to the celebration. Revyn was off trying to coax a merry Argonian female into giving up some of her recipes. Ralis was doing his best to get along. He couldn't help be a bit twitchy though, his childhood had been blighted in the shadow of the Argonian invasion and sacking of Mournhold.

Marshes hissed in laughter. "Only since he married," he said. "He was always one of the pleasant ones to us. Once he married our dear friend, he has had to become so much more active and clever to keep up with her. His plans are like swamp eels; spear one slippery snake and ten more wriggle away through the muck." Ralis remembered watching the Argonian going after the marauders who'd thought to escape by jumping into the water. He'd spitted them on his fishing spear as easily as the slaughterfish they'd had for breakfast afterwards.

"So tell us how you met our dear friend Helsette."

Sedarys popped the seaweed lump in. Not bad. It could do with a spicy kwama sauce. "I was digging myself into a hole and I needed more to keep going..."


	10. Party Favors

DISCLAIMER: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

PARTY FAVORS

"Good morning, Orthos! And how is business for the East Empire?" Revyn asked with a genuine smile for the Imperial. Orthos's return smile was tight and not very happy as he set the crate of goods Revyn had ordered from High Rock on the counter.

"Morning, Revyn. Business is good."

"Oh, but you don't seem happy."

"Well, I do have a bit of a problem I need your help with especially as it involves your wife."

"Oh, dear. Not more pirates I hope."

"Not exactly." Orthos chewed his lower lip as he glanced around the shop, noting customers browsing wares. "It's a rather sensitive matter. Do you have time to meet later today at my office? Lunch. My treat. And I have someone you need to meet."

"I think I can manage that."

+—+—+—+—+

The man Orthos wanted him to meet was company man by the name of Razelan. "You'll have to excuse him if he's a bit rude. He only gets that way after a few drinks and he's had a few since this morning. And yesterday. And the day before that since his arrival," Orthos softly informed him after the Redguard had only grunted after introductions and then had wandered away to grab a plate of food and bottle of brandy to nurse in a corner. "He's actually one the company's top traders in Tamriel and handles trades at the government levels."

"Here, try this Colovial Brandy. I picked up two bottles when I was at a mandatory attendance at the Thalmor Embassy on Mount Kilkreath outside Solitude." Orthos poured him a goblet. An obscene amount considering the price per bottle. "I was surprised to see Helsette there."

"Oh, dear."

Orthos kindly waited until Revyn had a chance to try some of the delicious food before returning to the subject. "Gods, I hate having to attend those things. Accounting books are so much more intelligent and pleasant than having to deal with some of the ego-centric, vapid nobles that attend those things. And if they're not vapid nobles, they're ill-tempered ones who only come to keep an eye on the Thalmor and then there are Thalmor-wannabees. In any case, I was also there to meet Razelan who was just transferred to Skyrim. It was hoped his experience in dealing with the Thalmor in the Cyrodiil markets would help us boost our trades, and because he's dealt with Ambassador Elenwen before. But it seems his drinking has become more pronounced upon the transfer north. And this last party, well, it was a disaster."

"Got drunk and insulted the Ambassador?"

"Got drunk, yes, but it wasn't his fault. I'd heard the Ambassador had ordered the servants not to serve him any alcoholic drinks at all. Everyone else knew not to give him any alcohol. Except Helsette. I saw her bring him a goblet.

"Speaking of which, do you perhaps know why she was there?"

"Not a clue, my friend," said Revyn truthfully. "Haven't seen her in days. Last she wrote, she was butchering vampires in Morthal."

"That would almost explain why she was at a Thalmor party," muttered Orthos. "Or maybe she wasn't there. The woman that looked like her said her name was Indara Romayn and she was a trader from Solstheim looking into the Skyrim markets. She had elaborately coifed, fiery red hair braided with gold chains and gems, the dress and cosmetics was that of a noblewoman of the high court, and she spoke with a Redoran accent. She fluttered a fan and flirted like a courtesan, drawing every eye so that Elenwen was fair jealous at being overshadowed at her own party. The only time she didn't have everyone's attention was when the Jarl of Morthal suddenly began attacking Razelan. By the time Elenwen and the guards had separated Jarl Ravencrone from Razelan, the mysterious Lady Romayn had vanished. Then there were guards running about and Elenwen ended the party.

"If Romayn hadn't been such a flirt talking to every man and woman present, Razelan and I would have been questioned by the Thalmor for speaking to her. But as it was there was no way Elenwen could hold every guest back for questioning and so we were allowed to leave, so I collected Razelan and brought him here."

"A fascinating tale, Orthos. So what have you need of me?" Revyn contemplated a second goblet of brandy but decided he didn't want to spend the rest of the day sleeping on the warehouse floor.

"To put it bluntly, after this incident Razelan needs a new position. He's good at his job when he's sober but until Elenwen's temper cools, he's of no use to us here or even back in his old position. Perhaps he can open a market in Solstheim and eventually reopen lines in Morrowind, but for that he'll need letters of introduction that I believe you can write. I'm sure the husband of the hero of Raven Rock has some influence. Influence enough to persuade the Redorans to let Razelan set up an official office there. That's all. He can do the rest once he has a toehold."

"I doubt I have such influence. And, well, do I owe such efforts for the mystery Redoran lady's actions?"

"Perhaps not. Especially not if Helsette wasn't there at all and my eyesight was terribly affected by the fine drinks so that I only thought it was Helsette in fancy dress and affecting vapid, giggling tones and behaving like a shameless flirt. Oh, no, it couldn't possibly be Helsette, our merry reaper of bandits, pirates, and vampires."

"I'll think about it, friend, I promise, but I want to make sure that I can actually help."

"Fair enough." Orthos suddenly smiled and it reached his eyes. "She was a sight, that mystery lady. Could've talked me into dropping all future shipping charges if she shoved a contract in my hands while flirting. Jarl Balgruuf had an arm around her and snarled at Jarl Siddgeir and Thane Erikur if they came near. And Jarl Ravencrone, normally she keeps to herself and rarely talks at these events, but she and her were snickering together behind a pillar. That, I think, should have been warning enough."

"Mm, free shipping..."

"Forget it, Revyn. One chance only and it's long gone."

+—+—+—+—+

Three days later after Revyn and Orthos had seen Razelan off to Solstheim with letters of recommendation in hand, Revyn went the Cornerclub as usual for dinner and a drink. That night there was a Bosmer he had never seen before entertaining the club.

"Snakes! I see snakes!" the drunken Bosmer yelled.

"Sandworm Special?" Revyn asked Ambarys, referring to occasional Redguard bottle that featured a drink distilled from a succulent ground shrub which the Redguards stuck a semi-poisonous caterpillar in for flavor.

"No, just a story. Pretty funny so far." Ambarys shoved a small flask of flin at Revyn. "Came in this afternoon, been drinking since."

The Bosmer heard. "You, you'd be drinking too. Just lost my job. Besht thing to happen too. Loushy, stingy, nit-picking, whip-happy Thalmor! Ambashador WhipBitch."

"Probably not good to mention Thalmor hereabouts, friend," Revyn gently observed, casting a quick look about the room. A couple Nord guards, but they didn't seem to be tensing for action although they were listening.

"Been bartending and catering steward for them for years since prison bought in Valenwood. Shipped here just months ago. Gods damned cold Skyrim. Last party. Had enough. Disaster. Ran away. Thalmor want my ass, have to find me in Morrowind."

"Go on, tell Revyn about the party," said Ambarys. He nudged a cup of thick stew under the Bosmer's hands. "Tell him about the party crashing Redoran lady and the drunken Jarl and the East Empire man."

Revyn managed not to choke on his bread.

"Yah, yah, yah. Another di-, diploma-, matic party. Empire-friendly jarls, rich ass-kisser merchants — the usual lot. Newest was this gorgeous Redoran woman claiming to be a trade merchant from Sholsh-, Solstheim. The kind of woman that makes any male sit up and pant. Had every man there wanting to sidle up to her. Jarl of Whiterun was 'specially hot for her and kept anybody else from gettin' too handsy with her. She even charmed any woman there 'cept that Maven of Riften bithtch. She and teh Ambassador — nothing but power to make people miserable charms those bitches. She was fun to watch. The Ambassador kept trying to corner her and question her but she kept dancin' away.

"Well, the party's just rolling on it's boring way. Yap, yap, yap, yap — lookit how rich I am, lookit how much richer we'd be if it weren't for the war, lookit — yada yada yada. Someone slipped that EEC trader, Rashe-, Razlin, a bottle of Colovial Brandy. Not me! Ambassador WhipBitch was furious, but it wasn't me! Been 'educated' enough on that subject. This guy, he gets drunk, he gets loud and starts ticking people off. This time he sets off The Hagraven of Morthal. Guess she had too much brandy 'cuz she comes up to him and starts yelling that she sees snakes in him, on him, whatever. Snakes! I see snakes everywhere!" he cries again, changes pitch so that he sounded like an old, drunken woman. "Treacherous snakes that hide in the shadowsssss! I see the snakes in your soulssss! Venomous, treachery, deceitful!" People were laughing now and hissing. "So now the Hagraven and Razelan are screaming at each other and then the Ambassador starts yelling at both of them to calm down.

"But, but that ain't the worst of it!" yells the Bosmer. "It was spiders too! Big, glowing, magic spiders that burst into fire when they jumped on you! The guards run in screaming that they were under attack. The Ambassador had the guards shove all the guests out. All except the Redoran lady. She said she'd felt sick just before the Hagraven went after Razelan and I felt sorry for her so I showed her to a back room where it was quiet.

"Well, it turns out she weren't no lady or merchant but a robber. Came to steal stuff and threw down magical spiders that attacked the guards. Even killed some of 'em. So I ran. Ran all the way from the Embassy to here where the Thalmor patrols won't dare to follow me. Goin' to Morrowind. They'll never find me there."

Revyn sighed and pasted on a jolly smile before clapping a hand on the Bosmer's shoulder. "Good story, friend. I'm Sadri. I run the store next door. If you're serious on traveling to Morrowind, stop in and I'll sell you supplies and maybe a tip or two if you've never been there before."

"Sounds good, friend. Malborn's the name."

"Mm-hmm. See you then, Malborn." Revyn nodded at Ambarys before leaving.

Malborn showed up in the shop two days later looking hungover, exhausted, and fearful. According to Ambarys, the Bosmer had tried to leave yesterday but had returned looking like he'd seen Thalmor. In fact, he'd mentioned something like it before trying to drown himself in ale. Malborn was hoping Revyn had an invisibility potion in stock and maybe something for sneaking.

"Dodging a Thalmor assassin, friend?" Revyn asked softly, setting the items on the counter.

Malborn's composure shattered. "Yes! Gods, yes." He buried his face in his hands. "There's a Khajiit assassin waiting outside. I can't hide inside Windhelm much longer before they send human ones."

"Quite an effort and expense for a mere prison slave." The Bosmer began slinking back towards the door. "You say you've worked for them for years and yet for some unknown womer's weak claims of illness you suddenly bend rules that you know are harshly enforced as only the Thalmor can enforce.

"Oh, calm yourself, Malborn. I'll help you get out of Windhelm safely for her sake."

"Y-, you know the, the..."

Revyn gestured sharply, slapping that question aside. "Ma'dran's trade caravan will be arriving in two days and we'll both go out and visit them as cover. Or at least I will. You will be invisible and you can whisper to me the Khajiit assassin and I'll take it from there."

The Bosmer looked him over, doubt clear in his expression. "Are you sure you can take on an assassin?"

Revyn smiled and set some scrolls on the counter. "These are my latest imports from Solstheim. Recognize them?"

"Yes! I smuggled several in for, for..." Malborn choked. "Oh."

"Mm-hmm. There's actually a variety of effects besides fire, like these poison ones. But thanks to recent events I can't sell any of them now or be known as a source for magical spiders. Luckily, I hadn't put these out for the general public to purchase yet. So much for my anticipated profits."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. But do think hard about your tendency to tell stories while drunk. And you'll forget my name once you leave Windhelm."

"Of course, of course."

"Good. Now go get some sleep. Assassins aside, it's still a hard run to Morrowind and you'll need a good rest to start with. Hmm, and probably a good bow and arrow set besides that pitiful knife you're carrying, the usual travel supplies. A third off.

"Free supplies and weapons, including some scrolls, and safe escort into Morrowind if you tell me everything I want to know about the Thalmor."

* * *

Hija de la Tempestad: Age/love/courtship/in-laws: stories in the works. As for "debt" he paid gold for the rescue. Slate clear. But she does have his good opinion now. That all she needs to proceed. /+/ Scouts-Many-Marshes: Absolutely correct and sloppy checking on my part. Sorry. I've always just thought of him as "Marshes." /+/ Title: " _Your wife, where is she?_ " = Not here. Chapter 2 was a song-inspired exception. The **shopkeeper's** _wife_ never was meant to be the focus. /+/ Why: Helsette doesn't know herself why. Love can be funny like that. /+/ Solstheim/Daedra/Miraak: Stories in the works. /+/ Overthinking: That's okay. Me too.

AnotherGuest: Not without a bodyguard. Oddly enough, he's classed as a level 4 warrior (skeever killer) so I thought I'd have fun with that.


	11. Housecleaning

HOUSECLEANING

 _(Warning: cluttered, dusty attics and cellars. Old photo albums. *cough*cough* Sorry.)_

* * *

The ash storm pounded its portside until the ship turned and rounded the coast to where the bulwark of Raven Rock took on the storm and the Northern Maiden dropped the ash from her sails and glided into dock. It was the end of fall and seas were rough. Passengers, Dunmer all, were eager to get onto solid land. Particularly eagers ones jumped the distance between the boat and the dock. It made for some hilarious landings and the Nord crew weren't at all shy about laughing and calling out unwanted advice about how to properly jump ship. One passenger in full head-to-toe, weathered hide armor and who had lounged the last hour at the front of the ship and taking on the full force of the ash storm, finally got to his feet, picking up a pack, and sauntered to the gangplank. As he passed Captain Gjalund, he said, "See you next month, captain. Safe journey."

"And good endeavors to you, Revyn. Oh, wait up, Second Councilor Arano is coming this way. I'll introduce you."

"I've exchanged correspondence with him, but yes, that would be nice." Revyn pulled down his dust veil and shoved the goggles and hood higher onto his forehead.

"Captain Gjalund."

"Councilor Arano. Full shipment despite the storms."

"Excellent." The councilor's gaze slid to Revyn.

"This is Revyn Sadri, Helsette Faro's husband. Revyn, Adril Arano, Second Councilor of Raven Rock, House Redoran."

The look of surprise was quickly was quickly shoved aside, but Revyn was inwardly pleased to see it. Councilor Arano's letters had been stiff and formal, indicating he clearly did not like dealing Hlaalu but only did so for Helsette's sake. Clearly the councilor had not been expecting someone wearing Ashland style hide armor. "Welcome to Raven Rock, Revyn. We've been looking forward to finally meeting you."

"Likewise, my lord. While I enjoy our correspondence, speaking in person is so much better.

"But I'll take my leave now and let you and Captain Gjalund conduct your business. However, may I call upon Councilor Morvayn, you, and your lady later this evening?"

"We look forward to it," said Arano. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and extended it to Revyn. "The keys your lady left in our care. I will send an escort for you when we are ready this evening."

"My pleasure." Revyn turned to his right and gestured to the two who had come from below deck and stood a respectful distance away to come closer. "My lord, let me introduce to Savela Nethri, my apprentice, and Tony Scarpelli, an intern of the East Empire Company office in Windhelm sent to assist Master Razelan for the quarter year." Councilor Arano nodded curtly as the two politely bowed.

A few more courtesies and then the three disembarked and began walking westward along the waterfront towards Severin Manor. The waterfront was busy. Old buildings were being torn down to lay foundations for new ones. Temporary living barracks had been built for the influx of job hunters and hastily erected business offices, stores, and warehouses. Another, longer pier was being constructed for larger, heavier trade ships. As they walked along, Revyn was occasionally hailed by those who had migrated some months earlier from Windhelm when word got out that Raven Rock's fortunes were on the upswing.

Severin Manor, for now, was on the western outskirts of town. Outwardly modest sized Dunmer style building nestled up against a hillside. Inside, however, it was carved deep into the hillside. The upper level was primarily a basic hearth cooking area and storage with table and chairs for casual dining. A second level below was even larger and boasted a master bedroom that was also part armor display, a second large bedroom with an ash garden, and then three alcoves for an alchemy lab, an enchantments center, and a forge. Fully stocked when transferred to Helsette, then stacked with even more things she'd collected during her wanderings over Solstheim. _Need another more assistant_ , he thought as he assessed the rooms and junk piled haphazardly in each. _A mage or apprentice mage_. He could sense magic in the piles but it would take a mage to identify the type and strength.

For now they would set up beds in the upper level. Tony was puzzled about that but Savela matter-of-factly explained that generally it was safer to not sleep so close to so many unidentified magical items. No telling which ones were cursed or had malignant spells. Revyn was pleased to listen at how confident she sounded now.

+—+—+—+—+

The Retching Netch. Upper level. Spacious, uncluttered, a courtesy cooking spot for those who preferred to cook their own food. A young boy attended the area, keeping surfaces clean and the fire stoked.

"Welcome, serjo. You wish to cook something? You can purchase ingredients below at the bar. Master Geldis keeps a well-stocked larder. There's also the menu. Tonight's specialty is nix-hound pies baked today. The meat pieces and steaks have been marinated in spiced flin and smoked with green tandil stalks for sweetness.

"Yes, I can smell the tandil. The specialties sound delicious."

"Best there is," the boy stated matter-of-factly. "You won't regret it, serjo. You can order and pay at the bar."

Below stairs it was packed. Dunmer primarily with about a dozen Nords or Imperials sprinkled about. A bard was off in a shadowed corner singing what must be current popular tunes in Morrowind. Revyn listened appreciatively. He'd listened to Skyrim bards so long that he'd forgotten the different tuning and melodic preferences of his homeland. Winding through the crowd servers in uniform aprons bore trays to customers. Revyn noted approvingly that a numbering system had been set up to match orders to customers so that one could order at the bar, pick up a little numbered flag, and then wander off to a preferred spot to wait. He pushed is way to the bar.

"What'll it be?"

"House sujamma, a specialty pie, and a word with Geldis when he has time."

The barmaid poured him a sujamma and set a little flag next to the tankard. She took his money to Geldis and pointed Revyn out to him. Revyn nodded back and pointed upstairs. Geldis shrugged and made change.

The nix hound pie was superb and Revyn amused himself by trying to pin down the ingredients. A half-mark later Geldis came to his table. Revyn stood. Geldis looked as his wife had described him. Revyn searched the other's face for anything familiar. "Revyn, originally from Vivec City."

"Cousin Revyn. Yes. Helsette's told me about you. Our grandsires were brothers."

"Yes. Eldiig took to trading in the Ashlands. He met his mate from a small clan part Zainab, part Urshilaku. His son, my father, likewise married in that same clan. I spent most of my youth in the caravans and my teen years apprenticed to my aunt learning to run a shop in the Waistworks of Vivec City until being evacuated to Skyrim.

"And Svadik moved to Gnisis to try his fortune trading around the ebony mines if I remember correctly."

Geldis smiled faintly and nodded slowly. "Aye, selling supplies to miners was profitable and we joined with a hostelry family and started running inns alongside the shops. Worked our way from Gnisis to Blacklight and my parents came here to Raven Rock to set up shop. This was before the Redorans took over. I was born here, married and took over the brewery part of the business from my in-laws while my wife worked the inn with her parents."

"And you lost them to the Argonians." Geldis looked hard at him. Revyn looked down at the table. "Oh, I've been doing my own searching. The deaths records in the temples, you know. They'd linked the Sadri name to their Rivuth ancestral records like the Rivuth groom had linked in his bride her family. The records of the local temple and were destroyed in that raid, but the Rivuth had already formalized the link in the records of the main temple in Mournhold before traveling to the wedding site."

"Aye." Geldis waived the serving girl to bring another bottle. "Bad luck. Bad timing for a wedding and their family reunion. Just one of the many small battles before the full invasion." He refilled their tankards. "So you. You ended up in Skyrim. Didn't think anybody from your branch made it out of Vivec."

"The woman my grandfather married was the daughter of the wisewoman, one whom Ordinators frequently hunted for heresy. You know, how the Tribunal murdered Lord Nerevar, how Nerevar would return — all that. The wisewoman told my grandfather to get as many of his kin out of Vvardenfell as he could. Azura had told her the end of the Tribunal was coming, and when they fell, so would all their works. And so those of us who believed joined with our Ashland kin. Some by boats that went to Windhelm, to Dawnstar, to Winterhold, others risked the mainland.

"I was part of the Windhelm group. At that time the Snow Quarter had no room for us and we went north to Winterhold to meet up with those that landed there. I spent two decades mining and hauling rock, building a shrine to Azura. After that, wandered a bit. Eventually went back to Windhelm. By then Windhelm was handling so many refugees that we had taken over the Snow Quarter, renamed the Gray Quarter by the Nords. I've waited there since, hoping to see more of my immediate family come through. Never saw them."

Geldis nodded. "Too many couldn't find boats out of Vvardenfell. Too many were no better than rafts. No sails, no steering. Dependent on tides to get them to Blacklight. Normally, that'd work. But Red Mountain played hell with the tides and changed the sea currents. Instead of Blacklight or the Morrowind coast, boats were swept to Solstheim or joined the Sea of Ghosts. Many boats couldn't make it. Ships from Fort Frostmoth and fishing ships out of Raven Rock risked the storms to aid any refugees they could find. But weren't any safe harbor to return to. Red Mountain took out all the shore settlements, Raven Rock was no exception, but most survived because the majority were working in or able to get to the mine when the main blast hit shore. Fort Frostmoth was destroyed. Those ships still seaworthy set for Skyrim. Those needing repairs had to limp around to the north coast to the secondary fishing port. Those surviving on land and hoping for a ship trekked to the north coast through the ash storms and under constant attack by rieklings. Who made it out, where in Skyrim they landed, nobody really knows."

They fell silent, drinking to their own memories.

Geldis excused himself, saying he had to get back to work. Revyn went back to the manor. Tony was napping over the first volume of the history of Raven Rock. There was still a couple of hours before evening so Revyn strolled further west towards the Earth stone.

People still avoided the area, the pillar etched with ancient, unfamiliar runes. The outer shell rubble of a shrine built by a nightmare. There was immense power in the so-called All-Maker stone but there discordant edge that set his teeth to aching and his ancestor's necklace vibrating in warning. A partially healed wound, raw edges still with the possibility of reinfection.

It was the first stone Helsette had freed when she finally got a dragon soul to fuel the first word of a shout the shaman of the Skaal told her she needed. Then she'd freed the stones nearest the Skaal Village and the one nearest Tel Mithryn. There were three others. Two she knew the location of but hadn't the time or energy to take them, and the third was in the main Temple of Miraak, and that one couldn't be taken down until Miraak was defeated. And until that happened, there was always the possibility that this central stone would reinfect the others.

He returned to the manor and prepared for dinner with the councilors.

+—+—+—+—+

First Councilor Lleril Morvayn, Second Councilor Adril Arano, and the Second Councilor's wife, Cindiri Arano, all lived in a dockside two-level structure fancifully renamed the Morvayn Manor. Severin Manor was much bigger, but then the previous owners had a lot of money to spend on building it. Ever since the mine's closure the town's value to the Redorans had dropped considerably. The only thing keeping Raven Rock going the past 30 years was Morvayn's personal wealth supplemented by a weak hunting and fishing industry.

The town had been in a slow death spiral, Morvayn's coffers empty, until Helsette Faro drifted into town on her quest to learn more about her heritage. The seemingly feckless Hlaalu child, too young to be roaming on her own for propriety's sake, spent her first week just wandering about town asking lots of silly questions and doing small errands. At first they wondered if she was a spy for the Hlaalu Ulen family who'd tried to stage a coup some decades earlier but that idea was quickly discarded; at 18 years she was far too young and artless for such intrigue, and had no shame admitting that she'd been raised Imperial and was only half Dunmer.

And as usual his wife's altruistic streak wouldn't allow her to stay out of trouble. After taking on several hero-type projects — solving the mystery of the ebony mine closure, solving the mystery of the ash spawn attacks on Raven Rock, clearing the local temple of ash spawn allowing proper burial rites to resume, saving First Councilor Morvayn from an assassination plot — she'd become the darling of the Redorans in the two years she'd been there. Lady Cindiri definitely saw herself as a stand-in mother to Helsette while Morvayn and Adril were concerned uncles of a sort who were reluctantly realizing Helsette was far more than a precocious child. The three were at or near the second century mark with Cindiri the youngest at 190.

It was like being looked over by in-laws except this was her Redoran "family" and their critical eyes saw an untrustworthy Hlaalu shopkeeper, not a warrior, and 200 years older than his wife. So, questionable courage, morals, honor. Lady Cindiri handled the initial conversation while the councilors judged. Revyn was a polite as if he were in the tents of his Ashlander cousins.

"... with Geldis being your cousin I expect you'll also be spending time at the Retching Netch," Lady Cindiri was saying.

"Indeed I shall. His branch of the family had separated from mine a couple generations earlier and I knew they had moved to the north, to Gnisis and to Blacklight. I didn't know about Solstheim until my wife mentioned him to me. I do hope our renewed kinship will be a strong one."

"I've little doubt of that," she remarked. "You seem to think alike."

That seemed a good sign that so far they weren't openly disapproving the match. Normally, he wouldn't care what their opinion might be, but they viewed Helsette as family and their goodwill opened avenues that he didn't have. The Morvayn name, though impoverished, still had influence in House Redoran. Arano had an extensive political information network in Morrowind and Cyrodiil. Lady Cindiri had her own network of social contacts.

Light inquiries about his family which he easily gave, knowing they'd be checking with their contacts.

"We had planned to ask her if she would accept membership in House Redoran," Morvayn said, startling him, "for all that she has done for us, but Telvanni beat us to it. "

"Quite a surprise to me, the Telvanni," he acknowledged. "But, Telvanni." He shrugged. There wasn't much to say. The Telvanni lived by the code of 'He who has the power, _is_ the power,' at least within their respective domains. And if Telvanni Mage-Lord Neloth wanted to pay with a House membership instead of gold, he just did it and that was that. Helsette wasn't sure if she should've been outraged or amused, but had settled for amused and asked Revyn for ways to push this new relation to her advantage. "Why delay? Why not make the offer when you gave her the manor and citizenship?" asked Revyn.

"I was waiting to hear from my contacts for information on the Faro line of Hlaalu," answered Arano. "Political affiliations you understand, and what came to light forced us to pass review by the Redoran Council. I found the Faro line an obscure off-shoot branch of the Ra'athim House." He paused as if expecting some reaction from Revyn. When Revyn gave none, the three exchanged speaking glances.

"You have the advantage, my lord," said Revyn, holding his hands palms up to invite further information. "My contacts are primarily in Skyrim and in trade, not political information. Pray, enlighten me further."

After a glance at Morvayn and receiving a slight nod in return, Arano began his lecture. "The Ra'athim of Ebonhart and Mournhold, of course, produced Katariah, the Duchess of Vvardenfell, whom Emperor Magnus Septim I arranged to be married to his son, Jarl Pelagius of Solitude, later Emperor Pelagius Septim III. She ruled as Empress-Regent when her husband went mad, and then as Empress Katariah I when he died. She ruled 50 years until her death and the throne passed to her son Cassynder Septim. The House also produced Queen Barenziah and King Athyn Llethan.

"Of the Faros, the only well-known member was a noted court beauty by the name of Inelisi Faro." Here Arano paused to clear his throat, now showing some discomfort. "She was a handmaid of Queen Ravani Llethan and was dismissed when her nephew Talen Vandas began showing interest in her. She returned to court shortly after the deaths of King Llethan and heir presumptive Talen Vandas as the concubine of Hlaalu Helseth. Then just months before the Red Year she leaves him to abruptly marry Legate Gaius Felix who was recalled to Cyrodiil."

Revyn closed his eyes, his mind a flurry of sorting, reviewing, and reorganizing any scrap of memory his wife had mentioned of her past and her family. What he was learning now had so many implications that were currently beyond his scope to handle at the moment, but he knew it would require intense study at a later time.

"So the Redoran Council balks at adopting a suspected descendant of Hlaalu Helseth and his Faro cousin." He suddenly laughed, puzzling them. "It's a great honor you would show her. But, three Houses? I know she would still hold to House Hlaalu even if it is no longer a Great House. Telvanni shows its contempt of Hlaalu by adding her to his House without her permission."

"You laugh. Why?" asked Lady Cindiri.

"You've given me a revelation. Let me give you one. But, this is not for general knowledge. I would tell you this in confidence but only because a debt is owed — is that so?"

"True," said Morvayn. "I owe her my life, the future of this town, the honor of my name."

Arano dismissed the house guards and the servants who had been attending the kitchen, sending them all outside. "Outside of this room, we know nothing," he stated.

"According to what my wife knows as fact is that the man who introduced his good friend, Legate Gaius Felix, to Inelisi Faro was the Nerevarine. The Nerevarine, as prophecy required, was Hortator of three Houses — Hlaalu, Telvanni, and Redoran."

Morvayn's faint smile looked more a grimace of an upset stomach while Arano seemed to be swearing in a whisper.

"Nerevarine was also required unite the Velothi; the four tribes to call him Nerevarine. There are nine holds in Skyrim. She is thane of three so far, and well on her way to a fourth and fifth. She also is bloodkin to the Orsimer and Champion of Malacath. She is also of recent Champion of Azura. What all this will ultimately make her, gods only know. I do hope they're having a good laugh. I know I must.

"She'd burdened with the Nord prophecy of the Dragonborn. And like the Nerevarine, she's working in a culture that would happily kill her for usurping their precious, preconceived Nord hero by being a Dunmer. I remember the confusion and anger among my Ashlander elders and kin when it was realized Lord Nerevar had returned to us not only an outsider but a human of mixed Imperial and Nord blood."

Lady Cindiri looked at Morvayn. "Then you might as well bring her into the House, Councilor. No better precedence has been set for multiple Houses."

"You know more about Helsette's maternal family than she," Revyn said admiringly.

"How can this be possible?" demanded Lady Cindiri.

"From what I've deduced from stories my love has told me, Inelisi has told them little to nothing of her life before her marriage to Felix who took his secrets to the grave. And if Cheydinhal society knows anything, they've kept their mouths shut around the Faro women. Or, at least around Helsette. I do not know how much the general knows, but Helsette certainly is ignorant of her Dunmer ancestry."

"They cannot be as ignorant as you think if they gave her a name so blatantly derivative." Lady Cindiri wore a stern, disapproving frown.

Revyn shrugged. "Perhaps you are right, my lady. I have no facts on that matter. I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting her parents to ask them. Our courtship was quite unconventional. As unconventional as the woman herself. I've written to them, but have received no reply to date."

"Yes. Your courtship. I've heard Nords often rush into marriage days after meeting." She sipped her wine. The eyes peering over the brim of the goblet held steady on him. _And did you rush her in the same fashion?_ she seemed to be asking.

He mimicked her action. "So they do. I confess to being startled out of my wits when she showed up after only weeks of acquaintance with an Amulet of Mara. The popular way to propose, you know, outside of our people. I pretended not to notice. I was, in fact, hoping she'd worn the trinket by mistake, meaning to ask someone else after stopping in my shop. Third time she came in I finally asked her if she realized what it looked like when she wore that amulet around people."

"And so you accepted."

"No. I told her I was too old for her, but she refused to let that be the obstacle. She won in the end. The only way out was to tell her I never wanted to see her again. Azura as my witness, I did not have the strength to do that."

Morvayn abruptly pushed away from the table and went upstairs. He returned moments later with a book that he set in front of Revyn. _Treasures of the Museum of Artifacts_. Revyn opened it to a page marked with a silk ribbon and saw a full page reproduction of a royal girl's portrait. Silk, furs, gold crown blazing with 25 blood diamonds — rare gems of power only found deep within Red Mountain — and a gentle, whimsical smile he knew so well, eyes reflecting knowledge one so young should not have. The plate below the picture read, _Coronation of Queen Barenziah_.

He had never seen his picture before and was acutely aware of the intent eyes of his hosts. He wondered if they could also hear how loud his heart was pounding. "Well." He looked up at Morvayn. "Well, well. And how long have you known this?"

Lady Cindiri answered him. "One of the newer immigrants here was an apprentice to the artist that painted portraits for the royal family and nobles of Mournhold. He brought this book with him. Geldis had borrowed it and when he came upon this picture, brought it to my attention the next time I visited there for a drink. I borrowed it from him to show the councilors. This is our copy we ordered from Blacklight."

"We've never had the opportunity of speaking with her about this," said Arano. "The times she's returned to Raven Rock she stays only long enough to purchase supplies and then heads out. When she returns it's only long enough to sell things and then she's gone again to Skyrim."

"I was beginning to think she was deliberately avoiding us. Then she broke the spell on the accursed shrine," said Morvayn. "Creatures of Oblivion emerge from the pool around the stone." He shuddered. "Waking to find those nightmares and only having a hammer and chisel in hand to fight with. Although, Adril, you handled your shovel pretty well."

"A spear would have been better, but it served," Arano said with a grim smile. "Her arrows were lightning bolts making the creatures twitch with muscle spasms and befuddling their reaction time to where we, though exhausted from hours of mindless work, could strike it with chisels, shovels, pickaxes, or even just throw large rocks."

Morvayn continued. "She told us a mad tale of an undead dragonpriest named Miraak wanting to come back to life to restore his rule over Solstheim. We had no time or space to think of asking her about her possible relation to the last of the Hlaalu kings; we were too busy taking count of our people to see who's missing, inexplicable injuries that we'd never remembered receiving or even having—"

"Suddenly remembering friends, people who have gone missing and never realizing it," interjected Lady Cindiri. "Some we still don't know if they are working on other accursed stones or are dead."

"Yes," said Morvayn. "And working out ways to stretch our overworked guards to cover areas outside the Bulwark to watch for those still bespelled."

"If you find people seem too nosy about where you go or what you are doing," said Lady Cindiri, "please understand that we've developed that habit to keep track of each other because even with this stone free of the curse there are others stones still out there calling through our dreams."

"Sleepers of a dead house," Revyn said flatly.

"Sleepers. Of course." Morvayn rubbed his eyes wearily. "Of course. How could this have escaped me? I now remember my mother's stories of the Sleepers. What next? Corprus beasts? Ascended Sleepers? The constant attacks on the original Manor in Ald'ruhn were the nightmares of my childhood."

"Nightmares for everyone," Revyn said, sighing deeply. "I know when my wife returns lately from Solstheim she is ill from lack of sleep and exhaustion. If she hasn't told you, Miraak is in Apocrypha, a servant of Hermaeus Mora. She's traveled twice there; the first when she found a portal book in Bloodskaal Barrow mine, the second at the Temple of Miraak. The portals will not allow her to take any help with her so she must travel and fight her way free on her own. And even leaving here she gets no rest because his priests follow her into Skyrim to try to kill her. And Miraak pursues in spirit to taunt her.

"But she is determined to find a way to defeat him. If she's avoiding you, then she is probably feeling guilty at how long it's taking her to find a solution."

"She should not," Morvayn said firmly. "I would be grateful if you could convince her to let that guilt go. We will endure and we will gladly aid her if she but lets us know how we can do so."

"We miss her company," Lady Cindiri admitted. "I've written about her to my cousin and he has traveled here to meet her." Seeing Revyn's faint frown she laughed. "Oh, no, he is not here for that purpose. He knows she's married. Happily married." There was the challenge.

"I endeavor to keep it so. She is not one that can be held if she is unhappy." He yawned lightly. "Forgive me. I am more tired than I thought. And the revelations of her House that you've given me are things I must take into consideration in my current and future plan. You understand."

"And that is your role," said Morvayn, a shrewd look in his eyes. "An army does not advance by sword alone. Not even an army of one. Well, I agree; it's time we retire. I look forward to many evenings of interesting exchanges."

Well, that went fairly well he thought as he walked back to Severin Manor. Allies in House Redoran would be a good bolt hole if needed. A darker thought he reluctantly considered was how bad things would have to be if ever he needed to call on the heavily armored forces of the Redorans.


	12. Housecalls

_AnotherGuest: Yup._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. **Stories may not be in chronological order**.

* * *

HOUSECALLS

"Can I help you, serjo?" Revyn relaxed against the left doorframe as he regarded the glass-armored warrior who had come knocking on the door of Severin Manor on this particuarly fine, ash-free midmorning.

The warrior removed his helmet. The friendly, disarming smile seemed genuine enough. "Revyn Sadri?"

"I am indeed."

"Greetings, serjo. I am Armiger Pellin Telemo, Cindiri Arano's cousin. I came here to Raven Rock in hopes of meeting Helsette Faro. I know she's not here on the island at the moment, but I was delighted to hear you were. I wish to learn more about her. Perhaps even offer my services to her if she'll have me."

"An Armiger? I'd wondered if any survived the Red Year and Lord Vivec's disappearance," Revyn kept his tone soft and non-challenging.

The bright smile dimmed. "Many lost faith and retired but enough remained to take on young believers like me. We believe the Lord is somewhere. Diminished, perhaps, but around in spirit. And even if the Lord is no longer present in physical form, the spirit and purpose of the Bouyant Armigers is still a force to carry through." The conviction in the young mer's voice made Revyn smile.

"With song in heart, blades in hand, and eyes shining for the glory of life. Come in, serjo." Revyn stepped inside and invited the Armiger in with a sweep of his arm.

"Pillan, please, serjo."

"Revyn."

"Your words are fair — is that a quote from somewhere?"

"I was describing my wife. I'm afraid my sad attempts at poetry are inspired only by her, and she's kind enough to accept them. She's far better at verses."

"Nerevar's Return' is known in Morrowind. Redoran Guards rotating out from Red Rock have brought tales of her exploits and copies of her songs that she sings at the Retching Netch. And many still wishing to leave Morrowind by the direct route through Eastmarch grasp at the rumors of the protection of the Bouyant Armiger of Windhelm. We — we of the order — know she is not actually one of us, but we can see the same spirit, the same soul."

Revyn smiled again at the other's enthusiasm and showed him the table and chairs set by the hearth. He soon had sujamma, tea, sweetened ash yam treats, and salty seaweed chips on the table. The Armiger selected the tea and picked up one of the chips which he eyed before taking a small sample bite.

"I acquired a taste for it from the Argonian dock workers at Windhelm. They harvest it from the thick kelp beds in the Sea of Ghosts, coat them in a spicy seed oil from Elsewyr, and hang them to dry over smoking applewood."

Pellin's eyes flicked over him, doubtlessly noting his age and wondering at an older generation's hatred of the Argonians after their invasion into Morrowind. Revyn replied to the unspoken question, saying, "Dunmer and Argonians, all refugees to the Nords of Windhelm. We refugee invaders are either properly grateful and get along or get thrown out with only the clothes on our back if we're not killed by the guards for disturbing the peace. Many of the dockworkers are descended from escaped Dres plantation slaves. They have little or no tribal ties in Black Marsh so come to Skyrim to make a new life. My wife is one of the few non-Argonians welcome into their home. Shavree, a sweet and cheerful Argonian lady, has this delicious mash dip she makes from kwama eggs that go well with those chips. Haven't managed to charm her into giving me the recipe yet, but I'm working on it."

Pellan nodded thoughtfully, licking the spicy oil and salt from his lips. "I think I could develop quite a taste for these myself."

They spend a few moments discussing Argonian flavor twists on Dunmer cuisine. "So your interest in my wife, is this your own initiative or that of your order?"

"A little of both, but primarily mine. My cousin wrote such glowing tales of Hlaalu Faro — her bravery, skills, songs, and especially how her actions revived Raven Rock. She knew Adril and Councilor Morvayn would stick with Raven Rock to the bitter end an it killed them. Now Adril is crazy busy with all new businesses and wealth, and while he publicly curses all the new responsibilities he's actually very happy. And his renewed energies haven't just been to this town either; he's also making my dear cousin very happy too."

"Which explains the old, dusty book my wife had me rebound for the Councilor's birthday gift," Revyn murmured.

"A book?" For a moment the Armiger looked puzzled.

"A rare edition of _The Sultry Argonian Bard_ by Ellya Erdain."

The Armiger blushed. "Oh, I suppose it's a match to Cindiri's, uh, folio signed by the author himself." He seemed to shudder slightly. "Hard to believe that stick-in-the-mud has it in him."

"Yes, it demonstrates interesting new fingering techniques."

"Oh, no. Please, serjo. I prefer my image of Cousin Adril as a humorless political hack with no imagination."

"If by 'imagination' you mean a dreamer, yes, Councilor Arano is no dreamer," Revyn in dry tones. "The Councilor deals quite competently with potential realities — which led him to sacrifice his dignity to ask help from an outlander who drifted in from Windhelm of all places."

"Indeed. He and Councilor Morvayn are the picture books of ideal Redoran nobility; willing to give all for the greater good." Pellin cleared his throat. "We seemed to have strayed from your dear lady," he said.

"How unfaithful we are."

"Shameful. But your lady — I've been actively gathering stories, reports, rumors. I wish to meet her and, if permitted, travel with her."

"There are many who offer to travel with her without compensation. Glory seekers, a few who wish to learn and better their skills, some who think they understand the crusade they imagine she's on, and some who just want someone to lead them and give their life meaning. Even some who imagine themselves in love with her. No insult, Pellin, but which kind of fool are you?"

Pellin's answering half-smile was a twist of humor and light self-mockery. "I strive for the glory of Lord Vivec, that his people know he ever watches over them. I'm always looking to improve and learn new skills. She's doing good for people she doesn't know and to whom she owes nothing to; I need not know her reason, only that she does it. And perhaps traveling with her for a time I might find my own answers to reinforce the purpose for which the Bouyant Armigers were created and to carry it onward even as our creator has passed from this world. As for love, I have already confessed to you my admiration of her works."

Revyn suddenly felt tired and rubbed his eyes. "And there's a new one every day. All right, Pellin, I need to travel to the Skaal Village, but on my way I need to pay a courtesy visit to Tel Mythryn. I've already engaged Teldryn as escort, but as you say, an extra blade may be useful. Will you come?"

+—+—+—+—+

Kolbjorn excavation. The expedition leader, Ralis Sedarys, was out recruiting miners and mercenaries to guard the site, according to the harried looking miner left in charge.

"So what have you found worth angering the draugr?"

The miner shrugged and waved a hand towards largest tent with two guards. "Stuff's in there, serjo. Ain't much from what I see, but the boss keeps saying the biggest payoff is at the lowest level. He keeps reading that book there," he pointed to an outside table that held a book and some pottery pieces, "that talks about who's buried down there. Now, if you don't mind, gotta get back to work."

Revyn went and picked up the book, _Ahzidal's Descent_ , the tale of an ancient Atmoran/Nord enchanter. He could see the appeal for his wife who practiced that same craft. He'd seen the pieces she'd brought back from this dig. She loved Ahzidal's waterwalking boots and it frustrated her no end that so far she could tease out the spell's secrets. According to her masters at Winterhold rules and aspects of magic had changed over various times since the creation of Nirn, every time the "dragon breaks," an event (real or mythological, depending on whom one talks to) that changes time, space, reality. So now she had uniquely enchanted pieces that according to current magic rules, should not exist and cannot be duplicated. And there was more below, at least two more armor pieces, a helmet and body armor.

Revyn didn't much care about the armor. He was concerned about the 11,000 drakes Ralis had conned from his wife and the two draugr attacks his wife had been obliged to deal with after two crews of were slaughtered. This lot was what remained of the second and they were occupied in retrieving the bodies of their comrades and burning the twice-dead draugr.

Teldryn didn't have much information on Ralis except to say that the mer had tried to hire him for this dig but couldn't meet Teldryn's asking price. And not many miners from Raven Rock wanted to work out here when there was the ebony mine and a Retching Netch nearby. But he did find it strange that the mer was having so much trouble with the draugr that he needed to call in a young girl to handle the danger. He'd seen the other fight off reavers and his combat skills should have been sufficient.

Revyn decided that when he returned to Raven Rock he'd ask Arano to investigate Sedarys.

+—+—+—+—+

A broken shell of a small house southeast of the dig. The court wizard of Solitude had asked him to inquire about her apprentice to who had ran off some months ago in a tizzy about his lover on Solstheim. Revyn had said he'd make inquiries while gathering her order for unique Solstheim alchemic ingredients and a few pounds of heartstones.

Ash spawn. Of course. He stayed out of Teldryn's and Pellin's way. He shoveled the remains of the ash spawn into a bag for sale and mined some heartstones from a deposit right at the back of the house. When he came to inspect the interior he smelled roasting meat and soon found the door to the cellar. Pellin went down first. They heard him issue a challenge then Teldrin went down after him. It didn't take long and then Revyn went down. Some gold, gems, love letters and books, one a diary of the house owner. Yes, they heard the thrumming the diary mentioned and Revyn found the secret doorway behind the bookcase.

Dwemer machines. Of course. And the body of the missing apprentice wizard with the bloodstained, last letter that had sent him running to Solstheim. He bagged what Dwemer items he could for sale while the other two went and located the missing lover's body which they found by the shoreline. The bodies were placed in the house and Pellin said a traditional prayer invoking the presence of their Nord ancestors while Revyn drew the symbol of Arkey on a blanket and then covered them with it. Then they burned the house down. A report would be filed with the Redoran Guard when they got back.

+—+—+—+—+

Drovas Nelvi, the steward of Tel Mithryn, was happy to be of service to Revyn, introducing him to the chief alchemist, Elynea, who sold Revyn unique wellness potions with a merchant's discount, and promising to ask around among the new Telvanni settlers for anyone of magic skill interested in helping Revyn the rest of the month to sort his collection of magical items. He'd also let it be known the newest Telvanni of Neloth's House was looking for a steward/guard for Severin Manor in Raven Rock, magical abilities preferred but not required.

The Telvanni settlement was growing, not as fast as Raven Rock, but growing nevertheless. A ring of solid Morrowind cement houses forming around the mushroom towers and someone had enough daring to bring a small herd of pack guars. None for sale at this time, but maybe in the future if they took to Solstheim well enough to breed. Revyn recalled his childhood perched atop a guar in his father's caravans. His job like all the other younglings was to sit high atop the packs during travel and yell or blow on their little horns if they saw anything suspicious approaching the caravan.

There were no slaves per se in the settlement as the Redorans forbade that practice and enforced it. However, if captured reavers were put to work, that was allowable.

Drovas was also immediately able to recommend a master mason willing to relocate to Skyrim as soon as his contract with Tel Mithryn was up. Raven Rock already had all they needed and could afford while Neloth wasnt going to pay enough to pursuade him to stay any longer.

The Telvanni Mage-Lord Neloth was not in a good mood, but aside from loud, verbal abuse, he was surprisingly courteous for one of his station and reputation. He permitted Revyn to collected the gear and treasure stored in Helsette's trunk, and graciously allowed Revyn not only to clean and comb out the furs of Helsette's bedroll but to "assist" around the tower as well, assuming that Revyn's living with Helsette's sort made him marginally competent in recognizing and keeping clear of dangerous items while cleaning. Teldryn and Pellin were sent off to gather some items that hero types were good for since it involved a lot of physical danger, tedious fighting, and rooting through dirt, ash, and other muck that was beneath a wizard of his stature.

Teldryn and Pellin came back with the quest items and a sizeable sack of loot. Revyn had a long shopping list of items Neloth wanted from various parts of Skyrim and a hefty starting purse to use for shopping. He also had a modest-sized chest enchanted with security spells only a paranoid Telvanni master could create.

Drosta had easily rounded up over a dozen hopeful would-be stewards. Revyn gave them a quick outline of expected duties and promised more in-depth interviews on his way back from the Skaal village.

+—+—+—+—+

Skaal village. The village leader, Finari Strong-Voice, was pleased to guest them in the longhouse and Shaman Storn Crag-Strider was willing to tell the husband of the Skaal Friend of how Helsette was quick to take on the dragon of the northwest coast to find the power word to break the spell of the tainted earthstones. Pellin was especially interested. The tales of Sleepers working on building temples around the earthstones hit hard to one whose order dedicated itself to fighting the Sixth House and all its monstrosities. He wanted to rush to the Temple of Miraak where there was still an active stone and working Sleepers. The shaman pointed them in the direction but cautioned him to go nowhere near the stone itself or even touch it. Storn's daughter, Frea, was there, trying to wake the Sleepers and worked hard at discouraging the curious from coming any closer.

The three went to the Temple, grimly observed the Sleepers, and listened to the dull, droning chants. Skaal Frea found them and gave them a sad account of how many she witnessed dropping dead from exhaustion or suffered horrific construction injuries and continued working until they bled to death; how many she had to chase away; and idiot mages who came thinking to use the power of the stone, were captured, and later emerged from the depths of the Temple wearing the robes and masks of Miraak's priests. She was quite the talker, repeatedly stating so much that was obvious. But they forgave that because she was obviously suffering from an extended lack of sleep and saying things aloud as if to remind her own fogged brain of why she was here and what she was supposed to be doing.

Pellin also cautioned her that magic mind-protecting charm or no, she had to take time away from the Temple. "Rest and take the time to resharpen your weapons, foremost which are your mind, spirit, and body," he cautioned her. "I mean no insult, but as champion to champion, I can see your weapons are dangerously dulled from overuse." Pellin kept talking to her while they led her back to the village, his voice soothing and his words simply repeating his message.

"Because Miraak's in Appocrypha," said Revyn. The three were relaxing by the firepit in the longhouse. Finari had left them to attend to business, Frea was sleeping at home under her father's watchful eye, and Pellin wanted to know why Helsette was not here battling this menace.

"The Black Book she found in that temple was the gateway Miraak used to escape when the dragons finally succeeded in levelling his temple. The prince has given him servants and the power to enslave dragons, and right now he's clearly more powerful than she. She's going to need a lot more words and experiences before she can take him down. She's done what she can for now but it's an uphill battle all the way. Part of it is the battles must take place in Appocrypha. With a mind as curious as hers, the knowledge there is tempting, but that's how Hermaus Mora traps fools and twists them to become creatures called "seekers." She might show you one if you travel with her. One of the tricks she picked up there was how to conjure one. Besides, the prince has expressed interest in her. He's even trickier than his sister, Mephala, who at least is honest about her games with our lives. He's obviously setting her up to fight Miraak for the position of his champion."

Pellin and Teldryn again went off for a while to do hero things with Frea, intercepting new Sleepers and bringing them to Storn to gently free their minds, and to stand guard in case some Sleepers turned out to be ungrateful, violent-minded reavers that needed killing. Revyn, in the meanwhile, worked out a tentative agreement with Finari for trades between Raven Rock and the Skaal, general goods and exchange of information. The Skaal may have been here first, but since the High King of Skyrim formally gave Solstheim over to Morrowind, there was nothing to stop the Dunmer from eventually pushing them out unless boundaries of respect were set now. And of the two houses, Redoran was far better to work with than Telvanni.

They returned to Raven Rock with some of the woken Sleepers, a mix of civilians and Guards, escorted by Skaal hunters that could be spared from the village. The Guards reported to Captain Veleth, the civilians were seen to by Alchemist Milore, Healer Aphia, and Aphia's husband Crescius, the ebony mine foreman who knew about mining/heavy construction injuries. Revyn went to Councilors Morvayn and Arano to discuss agreements he'd made on their behalf with the Skaal. Morvayn was willing to work with the Skaal seeing as they were the one advising Helsette on the All-Maker Stones and Miraak and not the Telvanni. Arano and Captain Veleth would travel out there immediately to formalize agreements with the Skaal. It was an opportunity that had never been present before.

Revyn and Teldryn, this time with Arano and Veleth with them, again traveled out. Revyn was dropped off at Tel Mithryn to conduct his interviews while the other three went to the Skaal.

There was a lot of eager would-be stewards for Severin Manor. He was paranoid enough to believe that some were spies for Neloth. To be expected of a House where killing one's superior is the most common way to advance in rank. He would naturally want to keep track of what tricks and toys his new House spellsword had in her possession. Revyn ended up hiring a two to help with inventory and sorting with an additional three he was considering for steward and would make a decision on before the end of the month. A temporary position until Helsette herself had time to travel back to Raven Rock and evaluate the steward.

+—+—+—+—+

Kolbjorn Barrow. Ralis was occupied solving something in the excavation and didn't have time to see him, according to the guard Revyn had asked to deliver his message.

When asked, Arano had promptly written letters of inquiry to be sent along on the next bi-monthly courier ship that brought letters and small packages to Raven Rock and Tel Mithryn from Blacklight. The councilors had heard about the death of the miners at Kolbjorn, but only superficially. Digging through unstable ash and with the island subjected to occasional tremors was dangerous business. Not every mine could afford to have people like Crescius Caerellius overseeing the dig and handling safety concerns. There was a lot of independent operations and many casualties. The Guards could only act on those reported, and even then usually by the time they got there there wasn't anyone around or alive to take an account from.

Kolbjorn had been reviewed and Sedarys had been honest about digging into an ancient Nord tomb. This was a treasure hunt and subject to different rules than a mining operation. By signing onto this job, the miners were more or less operating under a mercenary contract and willingly putting themselves in harm's way. By hiring guards, Ralis was fulfilling his part by providing reasonable safety measures.

Helsette's investment in this had not been known. Had it been the councilors assured Revyn that they would have looked deeper much sooner.

+—+—+—+—+

"I've decided that I'm needed here," said Pellin. He'd returned the day before to Raven Rock to apprise Revyn of his decision. "I still hope to meet your lady in the future, but I believe I can better serve here. I'm sending word to other Armigers. I'm sure at least two or three will show." He tapped a stone amulet of Skaal design. "Frea and her father made this for me. And, here, they asked me to deliver this to you for your lady. Can't fight effectively if you can't get any sleep." Revyn took it to later store in the safe.

"Setting up a guard post there then?" he asked.

Pellin helped him carry a heavy tub of fresh ash to the secondary bedroom below which had an ash garden. The room was being cleared to create an office and a small ancestral shrine to invoke the old magic of ancestor guardians as a ward against Miraak's influence.

"The Skaal have offered to let us bed down temporarily in the longhouse until the Redorans build a small barracks. Three Guards will be on rotation there, plus myself and any other Armigers that come. The Skaal are building a guest house for six to eight people. It's one of an open, longhouse design. No separate rooms but a clean floorspace to put a bedroll down and chests to keep things and a hearth with shelves for cooking supplies. It will serve those of us guarding who need a break away from the Temple and room for other foreign guests. A Skaal lad, Nikulas, will be running the house. Bright lad. Curious about the outside world. His mother, Edla, will help him with guests."

Revyn handed him a tray of ash yam cutting for planting in the newly laid ash.

"And so much for the simple life," Revyn sighed. "And life moves on."


	13. Moth Wings

_Note: I know the yellow flowers and moth wings don't officially have the affects given here._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. **Stories may not be in chronological order**.

* * *

MOTH WINGS

"Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares. Have a look around; I'm sure I have something you need."

"I was told you could suggest things I might need in Solstheim," said the Dunmer.

Revyn scanned his customers hovering just inside the door. The Nord was old, wearing College of Winterhold robes, master-level. He had a pleasant smile on his lips and the distracted look of someone occupied in another plane of existence. The Dunmer also was old and wearing scholar's robes. Unlike his companion he looked haggard. Haunted. Revyn noted the way the mer flinched in pain as he passed by the caged rack of enchanted weapons.

The mer approached the counter and laid down a silver dragon ring. "She, the new Archmage told me she had an account here and that this accords me discounts."

Revyn took the ring, saying soothingly, "It does indeed, friend. Would you both like some tea, something to eat? Forgive me, but you look like you could use a moment of rest."

Tired eyes flickered at him. "Does that come with the ring?"

"Yes. And I'm also madly curious to hear about what the Dragonborn is up to now. The 'new Archmage' is it? Get many dragons flying around the college?"

Both men studied him thoughtfully. "Since the very first day she showed up." The Dunmer sighed and conceded, "Tea and something to eat would be lovely. Thank you, sera. Oh, Tolfdir..."

"Both sound lovely, Savos."

Revyn called Savela from the storage room to take over the counter, then he led the mages into the side kitchen/office room. "The name's Revyn Sadri, serjos. Let's see, for teas I have canis, lemongrass, mountainflower-mint, Glade Special, and Ashfire Ice."

"I am Savos and this is Tolfdir. What are the last two teas? I've never heard of those blends."

"Glade is from the yellow flowers that only grow in the sacred groves of the Ancestors Glade. Very good for memory problems. Ashfire Ice is a tea blend favored by the Skaal of Solstheim. It's minty with a touch of pine, snowberry, pepperbell, and ash; and it's good if you need some extra pep on cold days. But you..." he paused and eyed the Dunmer critically, "... you look like you've had excitement enough. Glade Special then?"

"It sounds fine."

"Actually," said the Nord, "if you don't mind, there are several fascinating items I see in your shop that I'd like to look over. But please, Savos, go ahead and enjoy our host's hospitality. I insist. I'll join in later." The old Nord smiled down at Revyn's apprentice who took his hand and led him over to a display of enchanted jewelry.

The larder snack shelf had a few scrib jelly rolls from last night and little, savory flatbread rolls of thin-sliced venison, leeks, and tomatoes dribbled with a lemon-pepper sauce. He set a small jug of nix-hound consommé by the fire to warm. He served the tea first to mage, silently urging him to drink.

The mage spent minutes just cradling the teacup in his hands and inhaling the scent. It was working and Revyn could see some of the stress lines fading. He waited patiently.

"Blessed Almsivi — I could've used this so many times in the past," the mage breathed at last.

"Flowers of the Ancestors Glade, pollinated by the Ancestor Moths. My wife finds the tea calms her mind so that she can better study, or soothes the headache when she overstudies."

"Fascinating. And who is your wife?"

"Helsette Faro. We around here like to call her the Buoyant Armiger of the Gray Quarter."

Interest and amusement flickered in those tired eyes. "Faro? Ah, yes, that mercenary Onmund and J'zargo found. She certainly looks and behaves like an Armiger."

The mer began sipping the tea. Another long, silent moment. Revyn watched will more stress lines faded away.

"Telvanni. I am Savos Aren, the former Archmage. Retired. I don't know how much you may have head about our recent troubles..."

"Hold guards talk. They've all been cursing the College for messing about with Saarthal. Believe me, all the mer here have been suffering the guards dredging up self-righteous history of the Nords slaughtered by us evil elves because of Saarthal."

"Yes. Jarl Konrir has been quite vocal. The Dragonborn even personally confronted him during his public rants to remind him that until the Nords came from Atmora there were no dragons or dragonpriests in Tamriel. If anything, the ancient Falmer were terrified that the Atmoran dragonpriests would seize Saarthal's power so they stupidly panicked and killed settlers who had fled the dragons. There was no official written history books to back her statement, of course, but the dragonpriest mask she always wears does carry some weight. And her observation that all dragonpriests were Atmorans.

"Any road, the Thalmor got involved. My fault I suppose. I agreed to let the Thalmor plant a representative in the College as my 'advisor,' in hopes that if I let them at least have one spy there it would blunt more aggressive tactics. Ancano was the worst elements of the Altmer — rude, insulting, patronizing. People avoided him and, unfortunately, it was exactly what he wanted because then no one was about to see him do his real work.

"The Dragonborn found Saarthal's secret. When Ancano made his first move, I tried to stop him and he swatted me aside like an insect. Nearly died when he blasted me out of the Hall of Elements. If Colette hadn't been in the courtyard I should have died. Mirabelle, she went after him with full shields ready, but it was much later and his power had grown. She never had a chance. The Dragonborn found the key to counter the Eye and brought it back to stop Ancano. A student less than half a year and she earned the right to my office. You do know, of course, how Telvanni advance — we kill our predecessors and take what's theirs."

"Like Orsimer chieftains," Revyn commented, smiling to take the sting out of the mild insult.

"Fighting words, sera. Traditional Telvanni method in Morrowind any road. He who has the power makes the rules. I once had the opportunity to study under Master Neloth when he was still at Tel Naga. But I knew I didn't have the ruthless killer's edge to survive him or scheming underlings who'd happily step on my dead body to elevate themselves in his regard. Not then, not now. I was a scholar and researcher first, which is why I was attracted to Winterhold. Power was never the objective, just a side effect of my studies."

The mage paused and blinked, staring thoughtfully into his empty teacup. "What exactly is in this tea? Why am I telling you all this?"

"Have some more tea. As I said, the yellow flowers only grow in the Ancestors Glade, the only place you'll find Ancestor Moths. They pollinate the flowers and the scales from their wings mix with the pollen. The Moth Priests out of Cyrodiil are named after the Ancestor Moths, you know, because the moths, their silk, and their ability to channel the old magic needed to read an Elder Scroll. So I've read. ' _Pension of the Ancestor Moth.'_ My wife likes the tea best when she has to think out problems she can't shoot an arrow through." The mage willingly extended his hands and Revyn carefully poured more tea. Revyn drank some consommé and ate a couple of savory rolls while the mage slowly dosed himself with the tea.

"I'm hurt," the mage said softly. "Our Restorations Master could heal the physical trauma, but there's little she could do for my mind or spirit. Magical items causes pain, even thinking of spells can trigger a migraine. Using one? Then I'm in agony for hours. Ancano blasted me with the Eye's power. The Eye of Magnus we called it, that thing we took from that grave that is Saarthal. It rips the magic out of you like a torturer rips out your eyes, teeth, and anything else that causes maximum pain but doesn't immediately kill you. It was all locked in. This tea is easing the pain. Purging the festering poison. And so here I am bleeding out secrets to a complete stranger."

The mage set the teacup down and reached for a jellyroll. Revyn poured a cup of consommé and slid it over. "Anything said here is confidential, friend," Revyn said quietly. "I'm no temple healer but even I know some wounds, no matter how well treated, will fester and never heal if you keep wrapping it down and not let it air out a bit. I can spare a couple hours to just listen today."

At some point later the Nord mage slipped into the room, helped himself to some tea and savory rolls, and retreated to a chair near the hearth pit. Savos didn't seem to mind his presence but Revyn was acutely aware of the Nord's attention. By now he knew the Nord was officially the new Master of Wizards at the College while in fact he was the acting Archmage. The Dragonborn, the official Archmage, was much too busy and inexperienced in wizardry to fulfill the role yet the College faculty insisted she keep the title, believing that as long as the Dragonborn held the title it would palliate some of the anti-magic hostility of the locals.

Aren actually talked half the night away. College affairs, Aren's history even to the life-altering tragedy at Labyrinthian and the anguished oaths that drove him to seek the Archmage's position at the College and shaped his administration's policies. Safety. Safety first; do not willfully endanger anyone else; no necromantic studies or anything to do with the undead. At the end, Revyn accompanied them back through the unlit streets of the Gray Quarter to the well-patrolled and well-lit streets around Candlehearth Hall.

"We'll return tomorrow and we can talk about purchases that we didn't make today," the Nord told Revyn. "I'm sure you'll have many interesting and needful things in your shop. Your wife always did trade such interesting things in return for lessons."

"So you've made the connection, have you?"

"Oh, yes. It's not hard." The Nord smiled. "Savos will realize this too after he has rested and had time to reflect. The Dunmer mercenary whom Onmund befriended and brought in for odd jobs, then soon after the Dragonborn applies. The two are never around at the same time. The Dragonborn's mask is the only face she shows us.

"There was one incident with J'zargo; he'd been dazed by my spell during a test of his warding skill. Antonia was the only nearest to us at the time. When she came near to check on him, he called her 'Helsette,' because she'd forgotten her perfume that day.

"And the names — Helsette Faro, Antonia Felix — the Dunmer General Innana Faro and her Imperial husband and First, Legate Antony Felix, are a legendary pair in their own right from the Great War. I had the pleasure of a short correspondence with the General over a bit of Altmer alteration magic she was fighting against. Such a fine, brilliant lady."

Revyn drew a deep, calming breath. "Well, good. After your purchases, you and Master Aren must come for dinner. It's my turn then to tell you things you need to know about the Dragonborn and Solstheim."

"Excellent, excellent. I look forward to our next meeting."

+—+—+—+

"So it was this Miraak who told her she was Dragonborn long before the Graybeards called to her. Do the people of Raven Rock know she's Dragonborn?"

The former Archmage had returned looking much less haunted. Evidently he and Tolfdir had done quite a bit of talking before returning to the shop so Aren was fully aware of the Dragonborn Felix's hidden life. The Nord's eyes twinkled affably upon greeting and Revyn knew from talking with Savela that the old Nord had managed to charm quite a bit of gossip out of her and customers while Revyn had been occupied with Aren. Thank the gods the old Nord had taken to magic; as a confidence man he'd have been devastating with that distracted, kindly uncle manner of his. After a profitable hour of purchases then a good dinner, Revyn began outlining the situations at Solstheim.

"There are dragons in there now and they've seen her kill a couple. They know she is hunting some ancient curse named Miraak who is rumored to be the First Dragonborn and who ruled Solstheim long before the First Era. They're starting to realize that he's not such a myth and that he's responsible for the Sleepers."

Aren drew a sharp breath, eyes widening in shock. "Sleepers? Like Dagoth Ur's..."

"Yes. My wife has broken the spell on the stone shrine near the town and the ones near Skaal settlement and the Telvanni. There's three more she hasn't had time to break. You'll see the poor fools try to go to bed for rest and end up sleepwalking to the stones to work. At Raven Rock, the guards try to be gentle at capturing those still affected and hold them in the cells until they awaken on their own. At the temple there's another post of Guards and Armigers and Skaal doing the same."

"Blessed Almsivi. I wonder if I should go there at all in my condition."

"I don't think that would have been suggested if she didn't think you could be useful there. There's quite a bit on her plate right now and she desperately needs a magic-knowledgeable scholar over there finding answers she needs to take down Miraak. There's nobody there that can do that. The shaman of the Skaal can help you understand some of the nature of the ancient magic there, but he's a priest first and more concerned with his people's survival and historical traditions. He also absolutely wants nothing to do with those books. There's an Imperial scholar there studying Skaal history and has some interest in Nordic ruins and can help with reading the ancient language, but his view is purely non-magical. And Master Neloth is there, but I suspect you know better than to interact with him. He wants Miraak's power to control people but would rather others take the risks.

"Speaking of Neloth, I'm sure you know by now my wife was adopted by Neloth into the Telvanni in spite of her House association. All that means right now is that he permits her to keep a bedroll and trunk for storage in his tower. There may be things in there that could be of use to you."

"What's her rank in his house?"

"I don't know but I would think the Dragonborn and new Archmage of Winterhold would be no one's mere hireling."

"I'm surprised House Redoran didn't jump at the chance of making her one of theirs," Aren said dryly.

"Oh, you'll hear all about it when you get there. But it was a Hlaalu house behind recent assassination attempts. When they awarded her the confiscated Ulen property of Severin Manor, she told them that she was of the Hlaalu but they still deeded it over to her.

"And they are proceeding with granting her membership at the rank of kinsman. Her continued association with the House is beneficial. You'll hear all about it once you get there.

"Severin Manor is a nice place really. The Ulens spared no expense in equipping it with its own forge, enchanter, and alchemy stations. My wife had me approach the Raven Rock Councilor about the possibility of setting up a satellite post for the College as the rooms could certainly house a small barrack of researchers. Of course, she wasn't the Archmage then, just a new student with no authority to speak for the College. No firm agreement set, but I'm sure with you there to represent the College Councilor Morvayn may be moved to commit."

"Especially since I'm Telvanni who may be able to advise them on handling potential meddling of Telvanni in Redoran territory." Savos smiled tightly as he said this.

"Oh, we couldn't ask you. But if you choose to assist, I'm sure the Redorans would be ever so grateful," Revyn replied blandly. "I can recommend my cousin, Geldis Sadri, the owner of the Retching Netch, if you want the in on the latest gossip and political situation"

"So Cousin Geldis as well as that Teldryn Sero fellow."

"Yes. Oh, and I'll give you a note you can give to Armiger Pellin."

"I'm amazed the Armigers still exist."

"Yes. Surprisingly. They'd happily accept Helsette into their order, but she's declined because she has enough on her plate handling Skyrim."

"All very good to know," interrupted Tolfdir, "but there's still Aren's concern and mine. How is he to protect himself from becoming this Sleeper state as you call it? He's unable to cast any decent warding spells to keep his mind free. He's also not physically recovered to be doing any heavy mining work."

"There's an amulet in the master bedroom's safe that can ward your mind, a gift to my wife from the Skaal."

"I... This is more than I bargained for when I accepted her assignment to Solstheim. She never mentioned any of this." Aren rose from the table and paced about the room. Arms crossed over his chest, fists tucked under his arms showed his tension.

"She trusts you. She needs you," Revyn asserted in a low, steady voice. "Miraak is one more powerful enemy trying to kill her. Every time the Northern Maiden comes back from Solstheim there's another team of assassins. No blame to Captain Gjalund. They use command spells.

"As the Dragonborn, she needs to feed on dragon souls to grow her power and four out of five times he steals her kill to feed himself. It leaves her dangerously exhausted after the battle with nothing to show but for a few bones and scales.

"Miraak's hiding out in Apocrypha. She needs more insights into the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora. She needs more history on Miraak, the First Dragonborn. Can you get those for her?

"Can you keep up your promises to your dead friends in Labyrinthian to never let an undead, ancient monster get free of its prison?"

"Careful," said Tolfdir in a mild tone. His expression was bland but Revyn knew different. He'd been told him what had happened in Saarthal. The human may spend most of his twilight years floating in an academic fog but under the right circumstances he could jump full-blast into battle and take out draugr and puzzle out pieces of an ancient orb while it's trying to kill them.

Revyn looked at the Nord and held his hands up in apology. "I know, I know. I'm pushing. I'm sorry. But this is my wife and I want her to have every advantage that keeps her alive and winning. The Miraak problem and Solstheim has been distracting her from study of dragon power that she needs to take on your Nord dragon demi-god. An undead Dragonborn allied with the Demon of Forbidden Knowledge is what she just doesn't need at all, but they're there. We've got sword allies enough between the Redorans and the Skaal, but mage allies are harder and there's no way we can go to Neloth with this. He'd turn on her in a second for his own advantage."

"A given," said Aren, sighing.

"And there's one other thing," Revyn added reluctantly, "I hope you realize that if you decide to do this when you start prying into secrets those damn cultists will be coming after you. They're all mages. Any fool mage going to the island thinking to steal power ends up like ascended sleepers. Well, not as bad, but almost." Revyn went to a wardrobe drawer and soon dropped items in front of the mages. "That's what they wear. No subtlety to them so you won't have to worry about disguised assassins from them." He tapped the tentacle mask. "They never take these off."

They all silently contemplated the mask. It was rather like the face of the damned, twisted ascended sleepers of the unlamented Sixth House. "She helped Neloth free a Black Book from a Dwemer ruin. Neloth stated the Dwemer loved forbidden knowledge. I wonder how much influence that Prince had with the Dwemer, with Kagrenac. And Dagoth Ur held the tools of the Dwemer and was corrupted. My wife has described the creatures she calls Seekers that she's fought in Apocrypha; I thought she was describing ascended sleepers. I think these cult priests are twisted into poorer, weaker reflections of those horrors." He dropped a tome atop the cultist robe. "There. An extra she brought back from Apocrypha. Most of the books you'll find at Severin Manor were taken from Apocrypha. A spell to summon Seekers. Take it, please. I'm sure your conjuration people at the College will enjoy studying this monster from Oblivion."

"If these are the things she fights regularly, no wonder she was able to take out Dragonpriest Morokei." said Aren softly, slowly shaking his head. "I truly hope I can live up to her trust. I can't fail a second time."

"You may not have won, Savos, but then you didn't totally fail either," said the Nord. He put a hand on the Dunmer's shoulder and squeezed, comforting. "The Morokei creature was imprisoned long enough for a Dragonborn to be born and to destroy it. Now, as soon as you're settled and have sense of things, send word back to me, whom you'll need, and I'll recruit them from the College."

"Master Aren," said Revyn, starting to hold his hand out to Aren, but then hesitate a moment, pulling back. A determined expression settled on his face. Suddenly he flared, the center of a maelstrom of fire.

A ward flared before Aren by the Nord's hands.

Revyn focused on Aren. "By Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah — shadowed insights, unknown answers, unrelenting battle — we are Chimer. We don't wait for the light of Aetherius to guide and sustain us as the Altmeri do. We left to become our own fires that light our own path. And we're Dunmer. We got lost, we got burned, but our fires still burn despite the ash. That's the bargain; that's the price." He held out his hands, palms up.

Dazed by the eruption of power from the shopkeeper, and more so that it wasn't hurting him, Aren stretched past Tolfdir's ward and put his hands into the other's. A wave of energy that should have had him collapsing in agony swept up his arms, into his heart, tapping and awakening a deep primal power. He sighed and reveled in being the channel of such ancient expression of essence.

The next thing he felt was Revyn dropping the cord of a large, silk bag across his palms. "All my current stock of Glade Special tea. Please take it. No charge. You're helping me protect my wife."

"Now, I deeply apologize for being such a poor host for but I really need to inventory some stock brought in late yesterday and get it ready for the shop tomorrow. But please, take your time, enjoy dessert and the wine." He went into his shop but left the door open.

"So," said Aren at last to Tolfdir, "that was, um, enlightening. Do you think you can keep the college safe until she comes into her full power?"

"Hm, the Eye of Magnus left some residual power that weakens reality and interferes with the College's power flow and protections," said Tolfdir. "I've been considering ways to fix that, but I don't think I can. Best I can do is to ward the College to deflect the rifts to other places. No way to tell where the deflected rifts will show up though. We'll just have to wait for people to report the locations to us."

"Tolfdir..."

"Dangerous, I know. But the new Archmage with the staff can close the rifts and she seems to have no problem with constant traveling. I've seen that she's one of those that learns best when thrown head-first into situations. The residual energies will eventually weaken and dissipate, but until then she'll have plenty of practical opportunities to apply any new lessons she's learned."

"Rift watching as well as dragon chasing. That's a lot to demand of anyone, Tolfdir."

"Agreed, Savos. And I must reluctantly agree with her husband. You are needed in Solstheim. This type of study requires experience, techniques, and a maturity in magic she just doesn't have time to acquire."

"Another undead monster." Savos Aren shuddered. "He's right," he said in a low, pain-filled voice. "I will always owe Atmah and Hafnar for betraying and sacrificing them so. I'll sell my own soul if I must to find the answers she needs."

The two turned as Revyn knocked on the door frame and came back in. "Oh, sorry. Just letting you know I'm popping into the cellar to unpack some things. Let me know when you're ready to leave so I can lock the door.

"Oh, and some last bits of advice, Master Savos, ease off any mention of the Almsivi around Elder Orthreloth of the Reclamations Temple unless you like loud sermons. He's as bad as fanatic Talos priests except less sword waving. But he'll gladly help you if your devotions to the Princes are a bit rusty. I recommend Azura for insight. Helsette after all is her Champion.

"And since she's also the Champion of Malacath, a quick prayer to him wouldn't hurt. I suggest discussing the topics of betrayal, broken oaths, broken dreams and for the strength to continue even after your world has fallen apart. There's no shrine on Solstheim of course, but Volendrung is one of the weapons on display in the Manor. Despite what I may have said earlier, Boethiah only favors you if you're winning and laughs at the losers. Helsette has twice emptied Boethiah's shrine outside of Windhelm of cultists because they annoyed her."

Savos Aren nodded and Revyn disappeard through the door on the back wall. Tolfdir started talking, drifting into his rambling stream-of-thought speculations while Aren's own thoughts drifted to the shopkeeper's surprising display of power. It was raw and untrained but the sense of the Ancestors was strong there. It was odd, he couldn't explain it, but it gave him the notion that he'd found a lost part of his own soul among Sadri's Used Goods.


	14. Stewardship

_AnotherGuest — Making a note to myself to better flag the dragon breaks. Yes, 'Barrowed Trouble' is out of sequence and so is 'Moth Wings'; both take place after this Solstheim jaunt. Knitting with multiple threads and I do tend to drop stitches despite best efforts. And Savos Aren, I think, already hawked a large chunk of his soul to Mephala when he stabbed his friends in the back to keep Morokei pinned down. Just hope he doesn't do anything silly like taking a second mortgage._

 _AuroraNova — Thanks. Trying not to bore readers with my ramblings.  
_

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

STEWARDSHIP

The new East Empire Trading Company office was a two-room unit in one of the new buildings on the Dock; the front being the office, the back room, Razelan's personal living space.

"It's an improvement," Razelan said, shrugging, after having shown Revyn and Tony Scarpelli, an East Empire intern, the shaved septim tour. "First two months it was a floor in a group room along with other recent immigrants at the Retching Netch and my office was a reserved table in a dark corner of the Netch. Councilor Arano gave me first choice of space in the new buildings after I'd warned him off on contracts that stank of Thalmor origins."

The Redguard's attitude was much improved. Now here was the savvy East Empire trader that his good friend Orthos had praised and introduced him to some months ago in Windhelm. Back then, the impression hadn't been good as the man had been slowly recovering from a week-long drinking binge. Due to his drunken, unintended contribution to the chaotic collapse of a party at the Thalmor Embassy, Razelan had needed a quick exit from Skyrim. Orthos has pressured Revyn to provide that, and so Revyn had written letters to the Redoran Councilors here, trading on his wife's good name in Raven Rock, to persuade them to allow Razelan to temporarily set up a trade office.

The mines were producing but Raven Rock at this time was not yet open to major trading outside of Morrowind, their priority first to House Redoran and to rebuilding Morvayn's House standing. Limited contracts of raw ore to the Empire, but they had no intention of supply the Dominion anything if they could help it. Razelan's focus was on finding suppliers the Dunmer were willing to trade with and in exploring what other resources Solstheim still had worth trading. It was clear Morvayn wasn't going to allow the East Empire to regain it's stranglehold on Solstheim, but if Razelan continued to be useful the Redorans would offer him more opportunities on the mainland.

"Solstheim's still has good deposits but it can't sustain any major mining in the long term, not without destroying what livable land the ash hasn't." said Razelan. "And the Dwemer ruins are already proof that many deep deposits have already been mined out to build their cities."

"The ash of course, as they've already discovered, cripples crops, hunting, and fishing industries. Still, it's possible under careful management and planning. Garyn's already got a good feel on what needs to be done for crops. He just needs capital and help with his projects. I've got contacts searching for Dres plantation crop breeders who may have escaped the Argonians. Provided they've learned their lesson about slaves, and provided they're willing to work under tight contract to the Redorans, they might be what Raven Rock needs to feed its own and start their own crop economy."

He led around the office to the various maps he had pinned to the walls. He'd spent most the time since his arrival tramping around the island, making maps and surveying visible ground deposits. He'd talked to the Skaal to map major Reikling camps which also corresponded to many Dwemer ruins, old mines, and natural cave systems. Hard to map Reikling infested resources without involving wholesale slaughter of the little savages.

The little buggers had some intelligence though. Razelan had been talking to a Reikling chief who'd taken over a Nord place called Thirsk Hall, having driven out its sad lot of Nord inhabitants. The Nord leader was gutless and denigrated her followers who'd gotten soft under her incompetent guidance, so they moped and moaned in their pitiful camp on the beach. Razelan had declined to help them. No profit.

The Reikling chief, however, was intelligent and ambitious. He'd somehow learned to speak Common. More importantly, he had wider concept of trade beyond "me kill you; me get your things." Razelan was working on convincing them to give up Thirsk Hall for their own safety and go back to the caves. Preferably one with ores.

If he could do that and get them to expand their concept of foraging to include ore mining, he could then work out simple trades. He was talking to miners to find one crazy enough to move in with the savages and teach them how hitting rocks could actually bring them food and other pretty stuff from the tall invaders.

Tony was fascinated. From Orthos he was learning trade contracts, logistics, and everything needed to maintain a trade office. What Razelan could teach was seeking, finding, and developing trade. Revy left them, happy that they were getting along so well, and went to the alchemist's where Savela was learning about local herbs. They were occupied in distilling something from trama roots so he went over to Garyn's food stand and talked about his successes in adapting Morrowind crops to Solstheim.

Garyn's latest project was an experimental farm just outside the Bulwark where he was trying to adapt wickwheat to the original tundra beyond the ash smothered southern half of the island. It would take some years, maybe even a couple of decades. Solstheim was colder than the temperate grazelands of home so it was slow harvesting of seeds from those that survived the frosts, then, of course, there were reavers and animals eating up the grain before full maturity.

Garyn had little help with running the project because the Raven Rock just didn't attract people with crop-breeding experience. Something Razelan was helping him with. On the other hand, he'd started getting workers to help with the grunt work of farming. With the growing population, more food was needed but getting more farmland was difficult, expensive, and dangerous. Garyn was also developing a process he called "intensive gardening." It doubled, even tripled the initial preparation of soil and required the building of growing plots, but the yield potential rewarded the extra work and required no more land than what he already had.

The horker stew that Garyn made and Helsette loved so much was made with cornberry, bittergreens, and scathecraw. He was happy to give Revyn the recipe. Milore and Savela, done with their potion brewing, came over for lunch. "She has skills in alchemy," Milore said, smiling at Savela.

"Yes. Master Quintus at the White Phial has indicated he'd be willing to offer tutoring," said Revyn, also smiling approvingly at the girl.

"I do like cooking things," Savela said shyly.

"My territory," said Garyn, laughing. "Food and farming is an alchemy field in it's own." Savela looked interested. Revyn caught Garyn's eye and lifted his eyebrows while nodding to the girl. Gary grinned and nodded back.

"Enjoy your lunch," Revyn said to Savela, patting her shoulders. "Go ahead and stay and chat with Master Garyn while I go and visit with the Alors."

Fethis Alor, general goods merchant, East Empire booster. Razelan's opinion of him was tolerant. Alor had fixed, outdated views of just how much power the East Empire Company had which, in reality, was nowhere near what it was 200 years ago.

The Company had lost over half its revenue sources when Morrowind imploded. Then in the times preceding the Great War the Aldimeri Dominion had cut down a lot of Company people who also happened to be Blades. There went the skill and the number of people needed to run a empire-wide business

The Emperor's cousin, Vittoria Vici was the primary reason of the Company's slow regrowth in her determination to push through further development in the Skyrim market. She firmly believed Skyrim had more to offer than just bodies to fill out the Imperial armies and to raid raw resources from. If the stubborn icebacks could only see past their icy pride and get off their frozen arses, the East Empire could be reborn the North Empire Trading Company under her leadership.

He wished he could've been more help but Skyrim's cold weather chilled him to the bone, depressed him, and the task of having to again deal with the Thalmor just re-added old stress that altogether became more than he could handle. Hence the drinking.

Speaking of drinking, he was working with Geldis Sadri on an empire-wide marketing scheme provided Geldis could increase his volume of production. He'd lured two friends who knew the alcohol connoisseurs markets to come to Raven Rock to sample as many brews as Geldis had on hand to identify initial sure-sellers.

But, back to the Alors.

Razelan had initially found use for Alor's limited knowledge of Solstheim, but there was a distinct lack of ambition that warranted no more than a low-level manager/trader. His opinion was that the mer used business to mask the pain in his past. The mer could do better if he found the right help that wasn't his daughter. That girl was not shopkeeper or trader material, hated Solstheim, and her own depression only fed back into her father's grief of his losses.

Revyn, during his light chat with Fethis, could find nothing to contradict Razelan's judgment. The mer missed his home in the Southern Marshes, but that still being held by the Argonians, returning would never be possible. He'd lost his wife, all his family except his daughter. His attempt to hold onto what he did have, to protect his daughter, was unrealistic and strangling her. It hadn't happened yet, but soon that sullenness and passive hatred of Solstheim would turn to spirit-killing apathy and poisonous, bitter resentment.

"Have you considered taking a business partner?" he asked Fethis.

"Interested?' Fethis replied, a touch too brightly. Revyn laughed lightly and shook his head.

"No, no. I've enough on my plate in Skyrim. I was thinking of some people I knew in Windhelm who might be interested in relocating to Raven Rock now that it's become significant again. Of course, starting a business from scratch is difficult and costly, but there might be interested in buying into an established presence. You'd get capital, a partner interested in expansion, and perhaps you'd finally have the wherewithal to provide your dear girl a dower." He nodded at Dreyla who was sorting through some rags for items that could be repaired and resold. "With so many young men coming back, I'm sure a pretty girl such as her would have many suitors to choose from. A girl with a dower means she could afford to hold out for a good match. This town could use some children running about."

"A frontier town like this is not my idea of a place for children," Fethis said sourly.

Revyn looked disapprovingly at him. "I'm part Ashlander myself and I think the Ashlands were perfectly fine for children. A little grit in my soup or meat didn't hurt me any."

"No offense, friend," said Fethis hastily. But under his breath he added, "I suppose having knife-happy grandchildren wouldn't be too bad all things considered in this barbaric place, even if it means growing up Redoran."

Captain Veleth, passing by on his rounds, had that instinctual, finely-tuned awareness that a target had just been slapped on his back and glanced over at them. Revyn hid his smile of amusement. Helsette had shared the local gossip with him about Dreyla's and Veleth's courtship games played out of sight of her father. On the one hand, he could sympathize with Fethis's discomfort that Veleth was twice Dreyla's age. On the other, Dreyla, a little over 90, was a young woman and legally an adult for a few decades now.

Revyn personally thought that she needed time off of Solstheim and to be on her own for a while before committing herself to marriage. Veleth was a good man so far as he could tell, but he was dedicated to this town and kidding himself if he thought marriage would solve many of Dreyla's issues. But then, that was none of his business.

He would normally recommend counseling at the Temple, but he was ambivalent about Elder Othreloth. Certainly the Elder was devoted to the Princes and passionate in his preaching of the "reclaimed" faith, but he'd tossed Aphia, a compassionate temple healer, because she would not immediately conform to the new regime and she dared defend the past strengths of the Tribunal. The ambitious Temple second, Galdrus Hlervu, was only devoted to whichever gods brought in the gold, and the Elder failed to see this.

So he handed his donation over to Hlervu and he and Savela visited the altars of the Princes. She had never been in such a temple and Revyn gave her a quick, simplified summary of each Prince. His opinion only, mind you, not to be taken as gospel.

Boethiah, mother of the Velothi, whose vision of a different type of Aldmer — more contentious, more robust — commanded the Prophet Velothi to lead his followers out of the Summerset Isle. When Trinimac attempted to stop the exodus to keep the Aldimeri united, she "voided" his warranty. _(Helsette was annoyed that Boethiah viewed mortality as one giant cockfight for her/his amusement.)_

Mephala of the Web. This was the 13th of Frostfall; he set before the alter a pot of deathbells that he'd brought in from Skyrim but was careful not to say anything that might be misconstrued as an invocation of the Prince of Plots. The Aedra create; the Daedra change, and that is a process of creation all in its own. Mephala manipulates the temporal. It's a dark power, a fearful power because it means one can never be complacent or settled or certain. _(Helsette wasn't old enough or embattled enough to take the long view. He would mourn the day she did.)_

Azura, lovely but vain patron who claims the first and last hours between day and night. Boethiah may have birthed the Chimer, but Azura's was the hand that rocked the cradle and taught the Chimer what it meant to be Chimer. She reflected back to them the hopes, the dreams, the gentleness they craved and that Boethiah was not interested in providing, and jealously claimed the power of their returned devotion. _(Helsette chose to side with Azura only because he worshipped Azura. The "princess" was a bit too high maintenance for her and a mean girl when crossed.)_

But, even the Aedra could be called cruel and perceived indifferent when their worshippers suffered and their fanatics performed atrocities in their name.

That's life.

That's how he explained it to Savela, but of course she had the rest of her life to decide what she would or would not believe. He doubted Elder Othreloth would accept his views.

Devotions done, it was time for supper. They went to the Retching Netch where the special of the day was a rich clam stew with dense saltrice dough balls. They discussed the progress being made in sorting Helsette's treasures.

Geldis dropped by bringing their desserts himself. "Cousin, talk to that Thera applicant. She was in here earlier and telling Adril you're planning to bring in a bunch of outlander mages to live in Severin. True or not, she's got no business talking your plans to anyone without your permission."

"Is the Councilor still here?"

"'Course not. But Thera's talking with your other two steward candidates downstairs."

Revyn tossed down his napkin and stood up. "Right. Savela, I'll see you later." He went to the lower level and told Thera to pack and leave by morning.

As expected, the Councilors weren't happy with his future plans. Revyn apologized for the manner in which the information had been given to them. It was something he was going to discuss with them only as a future proposition and only after first having assessed its practicality.

"And what have you assessed thus far?" asked Councilor Morvayn, coolly.

"Miraak is the most immediate threat and Helsette can't solve this without help from other mages. At present, the only one of sufficient experience and skill currently on Solstheim is Telvanni Neloth. With all due respect to the most powerful Mage-Lord in Morrowind, I would prefer not to rely solely on his help. A second reason, many clues lie in the Nord burrows. The College of Winterhold has researchers dedicated to studying and documenting them.

"Lastly, the Dwemer cities below. Sooner or later any mining operation will dig into one. I know our people have long disdained the Dwemer ways, but there are resources that can be claimed and the original owners long gone. The College also has researchers studying Dwemer ruins."

"And will this research be shared with us," said Arano.

"Of course, of course. I'm sure the majority of it will. At least, the practical knowledge that would be of interest to the Redoran Council.

"But this is far in the future. My wife is only a mere apprentice in the College. She doesn't have the rank to suggest this to the masters there. At most we were considering asking one or two of the College's reputable researchers to come here as our guests to stay in the Manor since neither of us can afford to live here any length of time, what with all our work being in Skyrim.

"It was only an idea that perhaps, in hindsight, I shouldn't have been so free in discussing with my steward candidates. In any case, it did help me eliminate one whose perceived insult of Telvanni competence caused her to talk more than she should have.

"But I assure you that the creation of any such outpost of the College here in Raven Rock would not be done without the approval of House Redoran."

Councilor Morvayn's expression had relaxed to his characteristic open, friendly demeanor. "That is good to know, friend. If you choose to have guests a Severin Manor, that of course is your business. As for the idea of any College outpost, we will give it due consideration as we trust any proposal presented by you and dear Helsette will take into consideration Redoran concerns. Thank you, Revyn. Have a good evening."

He went into the Manor and to the master bedroom where he'd finally been able to sleep in for the past week. He had a innocuous dream of frost spiders. Three cucooned figures hung from the ceiling. The spiders choose two and cut them loose. Even dreaming he snorted at the simplicity of symbolism. Two left in the running, yes, yes, of course. The only curious part was that one ran free of the cave and the other was buried under a pile of snow as he ran out the cave. Then something shrieking ran past the spiders to dig frantically at the snow pile.

Revyn woke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. He and everyone else in the Manor were up to investigate. Forvyan Vindni was the first to reach it and when he opened it a womer fell into his arms and hugged him tightly. A tall, gangly child, his face strongly resembling Forvyan's, hovered just outside, his expression relieved and embarrassed.

"Dulcea, what's wrong?" Vindni asked.

"Come away, husband. You're in danger here. The ancestors came in my dreams to warn me you were entering the Webspinner's lair. I saw her webs waiting to fall on you. I had to come."

"I'm sorry, father, nothing I could say would stop her," the young mer said.

Revyn pursed his lips thoughtfully. Vindni had experience as a steward to a mage, but had lost his job when that mage had lost a magic duel. The winning mage already had his own servants so Vindni and his family were ordered to leave. He himself had little magical talent but knew enough to identify and how to safely handle magical artifacts.

Vindni's wife was clawing at the spidersilk in his hair and on his shoulders. "It's nothing! Nothing! The crates I was looking through had a lot of dust and old webs," Vidni asserted.

The other candidate was Manolas Themvos, a former clerk and guard at a Telvanni bank; he was also an adept level illusionist. While the mer watched Vindni calming his wife he was idly combing his hair which, for some odd reason, also had strands of spidersilk on it. His job yesterday had been cataloging a sack of enchanted jewelry which Revyn knew had all been clean.

"Manolas, you are steward at Severin Manor. Congratulations."

This silenced Vindni's wife. Vindni looked stricken.

"Vindni, I may also have a position for you if you are willing to relocate to Skyrim. It will require intensive retraining in Skyrim laws and commerce. The manor and business is on the Karth Delta of Hjaalmarch Hold. The steward's position has already been filled. What I need there is a projects manager. If you take it, be prepared to leave with me at the end of this week. In the meantime, goodnight."

+—+—+—+—+

Raven Rock was fading. Another ash storm from Vvardenfell crashing into Solstheim. The rolling waves of ash met the Bulwark and was deflected upward, part arcing over the town and part falling back on itself that later the denizens of Raven Rock would turn out to shovel away from the base of the Bulwark.

Even out here he could hear the faint, wailing call of Dusty, the aging silt-strider. Hopefully not the last. Vindni's son, before leaving Vvardenfell, had found two cucooned eggs and would be staying with Revus Sarvani as an apprentice. Revyn had spent some time with them, idly discussing the idea of adapting the creatures (if they survived and thrived on Solstheim) to the swamp conditions of Morthal. Telvanni help would be needed to change their biology.

Vindni's wife, Dulcea, turned out to be an experienced town clerk and used to overseeing all the records (lands, taxes, census, birth/deaths, licenses, etc.) that go with maintaining a busy town. With the Telvanni settlement growing, she had started setting up such an office for Drovas who did not have such civic experience or skills. She agreed to Skyrim but Vindni would move ahead of her and she would stay behind a year or so until Drovas and her replacement were trained. Besides, her mother was due to arrive on Solstheim in three months.

Solstheim was finally disappearing over the horizon. Revyn patted loose the ash from his armor and veil and went belowdeck to have tea.


	15. Aegisbane

_Aurora Nova — Manolas is innocent. I see I trimmed too much during editing. One cut was the big name-calling, house-insulting scene with Thera. Revyn had lost his temper said something extremely silly like "_ Mephala witness, all I want is a trustworthy steward. _ **"**_ _The websilk was proof that he had gotten The Webspinner's attention (day not yet ended of the 13th of Frostfall)._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

AEGISBANE

"M'not an adventurer," he slurred, still half asleep. She nipped his ear and rubbed his backside and parts of him started waking, but he resisted, needing sleep and recovery more.

"I don't want you fighting, love. It's just I've been so busy that I never get back here to see you enough. Come on," she purred seductively, "a warm fire, bottle of sujamma, bedroll big enough for two..."

"Ralis sniping. Dead bodies being dead bodies. Blood, gases, leaking offal..."

"Aw."

He stuffed his head under a pillow.

+—+—+—+—+

 _He he! Ha ho!  
_ _To the workshop he will go!_

 _My Uncle's candy is so sweet!  
_ _It's such a yummy winter's treat!  
_ _When the sugar is warmed by the pale hearth light  
_ _The happiness spreads throughout the night!_

 _He he! Ha ho!  
_ _To the workshop he will go!_

 _Uncle Sweetshare is coming near  
_ _To spread his candy and his cheer!  
_ _It's better than trinkets, games or toys  
_ _So say all the little girls and boys!_

 _He he! Ha ho!  
_ _To the workshop he will go!_

 _Candy, candy — he makes so much!  
_ _Uncle Sweetshare has a magic touch!  
_ _So it's back to the workshop in the snow!  
_ _With lovely lanterns all aglow!_

 _He he! Ha ho! He he he ha ha ho!_

Dear Helsette was singing a relentlessly cheerful child's tune she'd picked up from Crescius Caerellius on Solstheim, some cute jingle about a Nord candy maker who was popular in his grandfather's day. It called up visions of a jolly Nord capering in the snow.

Revyn shuddered as another clump of snow fell on his head as they passed under a snow-laden tree branch. The Skaal hat, coat, pants and boots kept him toasty warm but he couldn't help but feel like a child dressed in heavy, puffy clothes. It made it a challenge to ride pillion behind his wife, not that she or he minded the necessity of him hanging tightly around her waist. His own horse tethered to her saddle trailed to the left carrying supplies he'd packed as well as empty bags for future collectibles.

Slightly behind to the right was Ralis on another horse. That mer didn't like horses any more than Revyn did, but he'd at least been required to gain experience with the beasts unless he wanted to run behind Helsette's mount in full armor while carrying extra supplies and any loot they usually salvaged from jobs. Occasionally the mer let loose a fireball or ice spike to discourage and animals or trolls that wandered too near. Helsette had let him have the Ring of Ahzidal which let even non-mages use a fireball and/or iceball attacks with minimal power draw. And he was actually better shot with the ring than he was with a bow and arrow.

"We're here," Helsette trilled. Revyn peered past her, adjusting yellow-tinted goggles that had slipped while he'd been napping against his wife's shoulder. "We're a bit of a distance yet," he observed.

"Mm-hmm. You'll wait here with the horses while Ralis and I go on ahead. Keep your spells ready. Frost trolls love this kind of weather. Just pay attention to the horses; they'll alert you when danger's near." She gave him a staff to summon a flame atronach then she and Ralis slipped away.

Waiting was thankfully uneventful. By the time the two came back he had tea and warmed meat pies ready for them. Helsette cooed happily. Ralis declined the tea having snatched ale bottles from the bandits.

They led the horses up the stairs to the doors of the ruins but before leading the horses inside, Revyn stopped long enough so that he could wrap cloth strips around their hooves. He didn't want metal or stone fragments getting lodged in them.

It was a bit tricky getting the horses past the flame jets in the outer room, but further down a left corridor was a nice area with rooms, forge, and a pipe providing warm water. The dead bandits had hauled in hay bales for bedding and they spread the hay in one of the rooms for the horses and set up a large broken pottery piece for a watering trough. Once bodies were hauled outside and the horses settled, Helsette and Ralis went deeper into the ruins. Revyn occupied himself with gathering food from the barrels and sacks the bandits had scattered about. And sorting loot.

He poked around of course. The machines kept him awake and constantly soothing the horses. The forge was fascinating. No coals but volcanic rock over flame. No wood. Using a machine strut he moved the rocks around until he could see the stone or cement-like pipes running underneath from which gases hissed out and it was these gases that the fire fed off of. There were tales about Argonians floating gas-filled bladders among invaders in Black Marsh and using flaming arrows to pierce the bladders. Huge explosions that would set the surrounding, bubbling marsh afire. What gases were the Dwemer using? Where was it stored and how much was stored that kept burning for thousands of years?

Eight marks later they returned bearing more things. Revyn had bread baked, a hearty vegetable soup and roast pheasants from the bandit stores. Ralis took himself a distance to get some sleep leaving Revyn and Helsette some delicious privacy for a few hours. Then they were gone again.

He gathered the pieces of a spider. He'd read Calcelmo of Markarth's treatises on the Dwemer. There was an odd beauty to the spiders. The delicate tubes of oil that pushed and pulled like muscles to move the legs, the nest of wires around gems and soulgems that somehow weaved magic to power the metal body and provide a level of, could it be called consciousness? Awareness? He poked at the soulgems. Some vague memory of his wife reading aloud during her studies a writing by Neloth about affinities of certain metals and stones to certain enchantments; enchantment of properties. Iron more than iron. Flesh to leather to drums. The drum of pistons. Wind. Hissing of steam, the roar of gases through pipes.

The many as one. Kwama workers, foragers, a queen. Hive mind. Numidium. Body of the Bones of the Earth, a nest for the heart of a god. If Nerevar had failed and Kagrenac had not panicked and struck one too many times, could the Dwemer have resurrected Lorkhan?

What would the world be like under an imperfectly resurrected, undead god?

A loud noise shattered his musings and the cacophonous peace of machinery. Voices. Shouted orders. Bandits seeking their comrades?

A hiding place. There was a small room full of oversize urns. It was a tight fit but he managed to slide into one after shedding jacket, vest, and equipment belt.

"Look around. Find them. The cook can't be too far. Tie the prisoners over there. Faolan! Hands out of that gem bag. We can sort that out later."

Revyn groaned as he recognized that voice. He started wriggling out of the urn. Hands grabbed his wrists and pulled him out. "Hello, Aadolf. Did little Lissel like the bow you bought her?"

"Found him!" the black-haired Nord yelled. The ends of his long mustached lifted as he grinned down at Revyn. "Long way from Windhelm, Revyn."

"Everyone needs a vacation, Aadolf."

Icewind and Calder arrived. "What are you doing outside of the Gray Quarters?" Icewind demanded.

"Good day to you, my lord. I'm tagging along with my wife to see what she does when she's away from home. Oh, thank you Faolan," he said to the man who'd fished out the rest of his clothing from the urn. He got back into them and started walking back towards the forge area. The stormcloaks followed. "The top level is secured," he assured them. "I wouldn't be here otherwise." He checked on the bread and pulled it out of the urn pieces he'd been using as an oven. "You missed her by two marks. She'll probably be gone for another six or eight unless the Falmer are particularly feisty."

"But let's not let the food go to waste. Fresh, hot bread and cheese over there. I have leftover vegetable soup that should warm up very quickly. Give me a few minutes and I can fry up venison strips with apples and potatoes. And as you can see over on that table, plenty of mead and ale."

Icewind sneered but left the Dunmer to his domestic duties. He ordered Aadolf and Tadeus to double check the area while he and Calder inspected the sacks of goods piled in a room. Faolan and Parry stayed, keeping watch on the captured soldiers and searching out more bowls, plates, utensils, and other supplies for their own comfort.

Revyn glanced at the two Imperial soldiers, Nords, that Faolan was tying to a heavy gate with one arm each given enough slack so that they could feed themselves. "Should I ask?" he said to Parry, the other Nord besides Aadolf who was a known friendly to the Dunmer.

"Skirmish near Shearpoint. That's all I can tell you."

"I know the weather was bad when we got here. I take it it's gotten much worse if you were forced to look to a Dwemer ruin for shelter."

"Couldn't see my outstretched hand," said Faolan, the archer of the group with eyes reputed to be able to see in the dark like a Khajiit.. "Turning to be a really bad season if the storms come this early."

"Yes, the Cruel-Seas and other farmers have been desperately harvesting. My wife provided the Argonians special enchanted items to protect them from the cold for the grand hunt they're planning for fish and a small whale in the deep trenches of the Sea of Ghosts before the ice gets too thick. Hundreds of pounds of meats and oils. Also harvesting from the thick kelp forests. They won't starve. Neither will we in the Gray Quarter. There will be oils for lamps, fat for candles and soaps, bones for our bonemold crafters," Revyn kept up the light stream of chatter while he cooked.

"Of course, due portion to the Jarl which will be distributed to Stormcloak forces I'm sure. And the Shatter-Shields will be richly compensated for the time their workforce disappears. Gods forbid he should suffer a loss for having to hire Nords at triple pay to temporarily work the docks.

"Some of that harvest will go to the East Empire in trade for more cheeses, dried fruits and vegetables, flour and such with more available for sale of course."

Revyn set the hot food on a bench. Icewind had come back from inspecting the goods Revyn had been sorting, a new Dwemer axe hooked to his belt. "I'm confiscating the gold and gems for the Jarl's due," he told Revyn.

"I'm sure Jarl Skald will be delighted," said Revyn calmly.

"Don't be stupid, elf."

"Quite right. Forgive me. Just because this is The Pale. I'm sure Jarl Skald would have happily turned the goods over to Jarl Ulfric anyway in his unflagging support."

"Your wife's a treasure hunter; what else is she searching these ruins for?"

"More of the same I suppose. I don't know. I'm just campsite support. Cook, take care of the horses, sort things for the shop, that sort of thing."

He pointed to another set of bags. "You can also take those if you like. Standard grade Dwemer armor pieces, swords, daggers, and axes. There's plenty of random metal pieces I was planning to sell to War-Anvil to turn into ingots. I've an overstock of weapons anyway so no loss to me. Saves me the trouble of organizing another sale. Not that it'd be successfully anyway. No one has any coin to spare this season. I'd only end up selling the lot to the Khajiit or shipping the excess to Riften or Dawnstar."

"Pack them," Icewind said to Calder and Parry. Revyn smiled. Icewind scowled, certain he was being cheated but unable to determine how.

Aadolf and Tadeus returned, confirming that everything on this level of the ruins was dead. More or less. If anything in a Dwemer ruin could ever be dead. The men settled down to eat, talk, or sleep.

Revyn decided to haul in some snow to melt for water as well as pour some grain out for the horses to eat. The water for the pipes was fine for bathing, but he didn't like the heavy mineral taste and the horses didn't seem to care for it either. The blizzard outside was piling snow to nearly waist high just outside the doors. As he packed buckets with snow the howling wind carried faint voices. He strained to listen then cursed, abandoning the buckets and ran back in, struggled to close the massive doors and did his best to jam metal struts into the door.

He ran back to Icewind's group. "'Ware! Bandits!"

"How many?" Icewind demanded.

"I only saw three before I ran back inside. There were other torches farther and I heard more voices.

They could hear the banging at the front doors. Icewind ordered his men to the entry chamber while Revyn stayed back in the forge area to dig through his packs for vials to secrete in his utility belt. Every health and stamina potion he had went his carrysack along with Dwemer oil cans. Then on went the belt, carrysack, and work gloves. He wished he'd brought his stop-thief gloves with it's paralysis touch but he'd left that at home with Savela who was managing the shop on her own. But he still had the atronach staff as well as a small bow with a quiver of steel arrows. The bow was hardly meant for battle, more for shooting at birds and small animals, but it would do for close quarters especially after he tipped the arrows with a paralytic poison.

Definitely more than three bandits. The majority must have been out raiding or foraging and the storm had driven them back. He cautiously moved forward towards the fight in the outer flame-trap room but was met with Icewind and his company retreating. The bandits had two Dunmer fire mages and the mages were using firebolts to drive forward. Faolan was out of action, a thrown dagger in his shoulder. He was fending off attackers with a shield in his right hand. Revyn drew and took down one mage. The other shielded and withdrew to let the armored fighters surge forward.

Parry cried out as his shield was broken by an Imperial dressed in wools and silks and swinging a war hammer with an ice enchantment. Parry held off another attack with good sword work but it was clear his left arm was injured. Revyn's arrows cleared Parry's way for retreat.

But now the bandit archers were aiming for him and Revyn was forced to find hiding. "Aadolf, Tadeus, grab Parry and fall back!" he yelled. As the three men retreated Revyn charged up a fire atronach and then summoned a fire wolf.

The ice hammer crushed the wolf and the man screamed as it exploded in fire and set fire to his clothes. He recovered quick enough with a healthy swig of a healing potion. He hoisted the war hammer aloft. The runes on it caught the light and Revyn recognized it. Every shopkeeper, blacksmith, and weaponsmith in the Stormcloak holdings had been sent its description.

"Aegisbane! The Shatter-Shield hammer!" Revyn shrieked at Icewind. He sent in another fire wolf. He ducked behind a rubble pile as a fireball engulfed his position. But, being Dunmer, what flames that weren't absorbed by the rubble he easily shrugged off what would toast off the top layer of flesh of a human.

Two bandits had managed to circle around the stormcloaks and were coming after him. Revyn fled back. One almost caught him but he ducked, twisted back, and slapped the atronach staff against his knee. The man fell hard, his body and weapons tumbling towards the fettered Imperial soldiers. They kicked him savagely. Revyn grinned at them and ran away with the second bandit still in chase. He summoned another atronach. It sang as it chucked fireballs at the bandit who suddenly found his rapidly heating iron armor a great hindrance.

The ballista room. Two massive machines. One Helsette had discharged already out of curiosity and that had taken out the bandit's makeshift cooking area, tents, and chests. The second he aimed at the locked gates that barred the corridor that led directly to the flame-trapped entry room. The lever was stiff to move, but he shoved it and the ballista blew the gate open. Icewind and his men came through.

How many bandits were there? Revyn was out of arrows. Icewind had Aegisbane and was in berserker's madness. His men, familiar with this, stayed clear of him. Parry and Faolan limped up the side ramp to the upper level where Revyn was. He shrugged off his carrysack and fetched out healing potions. Faolan was soon back firing arrows. Parry also after Revyn had made sure bones were aligned and the arm braced before Parry drank his potion. He joined Aadolf, Calder, and Tadeus to drive bandits towards Icewind's line of sight to be struck down by him.

This wasn't a stupid group. Alain Dufont, the thief who'd stolen Aegisbane, had gone to the trouble to hire a number of professionals along with recruited bandits. After the initial shock they were pulling back, heavy armored fighters bringing up shields and behind them, through the gaps of shields, archers were positioning. Imperial column tactic. But the mismatched shields left serious gaps. Anyone among them with any level of magic was now casting to distract, disorient Icewind and his men.

Aadolf was downed by an arrow in the side. Revyn dug into his carrysack for the oil. He chucked half behind the shield wall. He tossed the remainder to Tadeus and told him to spread it at the feet of the mercs.

Another atronach and another fire wolf. He followed them into the fight. The wolf exploded and set the oil alight. He grabbed Aadolf and dragged him clear of the oil. Once clear he tapped Ancestors Wrath, the power lending extra explosive power to his wolves and boosting his own natural resistance to fire as he stood at the edges of the burning puddles of oil. He concentrated again on summoning; he was summoning as fast as they were destroyed. The stormcloaks drove the foes back into the fires. Except...

"'Ware Icewind!" Parry screamed.

Revyn scrambled desperately out of the way as Aegisbane came down.

Damn Nord berserkers.

He shoved Aadolf among other dead bodies. The Nord had the wit to play dead and Icewind passed him by to pursue the flaming piece of charcoal that maddeningly danced just out of striking distance. It ran out of the combat area.

In the ballista chamber a giant beetle screaming in berserk fury flanked by two dremora lords entered and finished off the rest of the bandits. The remaining stormcloaks reflexively collapsed to the floor, playing dead.

In the side corridor Ralis was running towards Revyn. He grabbed Revyn and boosted him out of the way and braced for Icewind's charge. His sword and pickaxe came up, crossed in defense against the war hammer. The hammer's momentum was too strong and his defense collapsed and the hammer smashed against his chest armor, freezing and cracking the breastplates. Helsette tackled Icewind from behind, pushing a shock knife into his leg, sending him into a spasm. He released Aegisbane and grabbed instead her shoulders. Rolled, pushing her down and him on top, straddling her. His hands went to her throat, choking off her shout.

Revyn jumped on top of them, pulling Icewind's helmet off and grabbed his hair. He fumbled through his belt, found a yellow vial. With desperate strength the smashed the vial against Icewind's scalp, grinding the glass and poison in. For a few terrifying moments it didn't seem to be working, but before Revyn could use the second such vial, Icewind abruptly collapsed.

"Helsette... talk..." Revyn begged between great, heaving pants, collapsing beside his wife

"M'okay," she rasped. She pushed Icewind off and rolled to cuddle against Revyn. "My hero."

He managed a croaking laugh.

+—+—+—+—+

"Jerk Icewind, I've been wondering if we'd ever meet." Helsette smiled down at the Nord, her eyes practically glowing with challenge.

Icewind wordlessly snarled and glared up at the two Dunmer kneeling on his left and right.

It had been close for Icewind. Battle exhaustion, blood loss, fire and shock damage, and finally paralytic poison had dropped him, stopping his heart, but the two Dunmer had saved his life, Helsette primarily doing the healing and Revyn merely supplying her with the extra magic as hers depleted.

"Um, my love, it's an old Atmoran name pronounced _Jerk_ , a cross between Yurt and Erik. _Yehrk_."

"Jerk," she affirmed on a happy note.

Revyn made an unhappy sound.

"'Scuse me, lady." Aadolf dropped to his knees beside her and deliberately shouldered her aside to claim his thane's attention. "I'm sorry, my thane, we couldn't find a trace of the Imperials. No bodies inside or in the outer areas. Some bodies were stripped, food was taken, and the horses were taken so they're out there running back to their side."

Revyn scuttled around to his wife and dragged her away from Icewind, saying, "Come along, love. Ralis should have a bath ready for us." The stormcloaks closed the gap around Icewind.

"Wait, what did he say about our horses?"

"Imperial soldiers stole them. Now, no baiting the thane. It's not worth it," he said firmly, shaking her arm. He got to his feet and pulled her up.

Still holding her hand he led her further away to where Ralis waited at the far end of the corridor to an emptied treasure room just off the ballista room. He'd tied blankets on the gates for privacy and set a basket of food and drink on the side with a large blanket. "The short, blonde Nord will be by later to see if you need anything. Me, I'm off to sleep." Ralis had had bruised ribs from the hammer strike, his armor saving him from worse damage.

"Taking on a berserker in close quarters. Stupid, stupid, stupid," she was grumbling. "I've fought enough Orcs to know that. I was trying not to kill that damn stormcloak."

"I know, dear, and thank you. I have to live in the same city with them," Revyn murmured. He sat her down on an empty treasure chest and knelt to remove her boots.

"But... Damn. Nord berserkers are unbelievably stupider than Orc berserkers! I mean, the extra strength, speed, stamina, and immunity to pain, that's a great advantage. But even Orcs in a berserker rage can hold onto enough brains to recognize allies! Why is that?"

"Mm-hmm. Nords should leave berserker rages to the Orcs." He stretched up and nuzzled her neck while unbuckling her belt and easing off her leggings.

+—+—+—+—+

"Beautiful."

Yes, it was beautiful on the deep blue velvet sack it was soon going to be packed into. The four pieces of Aetherium fit so perfectly and refracted light to flawlessly in its depths that one could swear that it had never been cut since its casting thousands of years ago.

Then he realized he wasn't alone in the cellar of his house/shop. A Nord spirit was on the other side of the table staring down at the Aetherium crest.

He lightly touched his shirt area under which lay his ancestor's necklace then he said politely, "Miss Katria I presume."

The spirit looked at him. "Did I know you?"

"You know my wife. We left Raldbthar two days ago and she gave me the fourth piece to keep here with the others. She left this morning for Winterhold."

"When can she meet me at the Forge?"

"Ah... it may take... hm... possibly come Spring. Arrangements need to be made, you see, with the area of Bthalft being in a potential battle zone. It's right next to an Imperial camp and so far the stormcloaks haven't challenged them. Um, opening up a new Dwemer ruin and its treasures, however, may stir things up.

"What we are doing," he hastened to add when it looked like the spirit might speak, "is we're submitted a research proposal to the College of Winterhold. The Archmage — Helsette incidentally — is going to convince the masters to agree that patronizing a work outpost at the site, thus extending the College's neutrality from the war, will avoid power grabs by either side. To further the cloak of respectable scientific research, we are arranging joint studies with the court mage of Markarth, Calcelmo, the current acknowledged expert of Dwemer studies.

"Who also, thanks to Helsette's recovery of your journal, has been challenging Taron Dreth's claim to be the foremost expert on Dwemer metallurgy by stating his scholarly opus, The Aetherium Wars, was outright theft of another's work. Yours.

"Earthquakes, miss. Politial and academic earthquakes. You understand, yes? And Thalmor. No doubt the Dominion will try to send their spies to claim any trace of Dwemer power for their own."

Indeed, a look of wry resignation was on the spirit's face. "Of all things in life I miss, politics is not one of them. Alright, yes, I can wait a few more months."

"May I suggest amusing yourself by haunting Taron Dreth? I'm sure he's a disgrace to his ancestors so they might guide you to him and allow you to annoy him for a while."

"So petty. But... yes... his grandmother agrees. They're not angry that he stole from me, but that he's gotten too arrogant, failed to capitalize on the theft beyond his own aggrandizement, and shows no respect to them. Hah."

Revyn bowed slightly as she faded away. He spend a few moments thanking his own ancestors for their guidance and protection.

The past week at Raldbthar — stormcloaks, bandits, keeping Icewind and Helsette separated — had succeeded in making the Gray Quarters seem a haven of peace. At least for the first couple of days back.

Icewind and his men had left as soon as the blizzard had died down. They took with them the majority of hard goods salvaged from the ruins. When they had gone, Revyn had pulled out the enchanted stuff and high-quality gemstones and jewelry from hiding and Helsette had led him and Ralis back through Raldbthar's depths to emerge at a lift gate house just three hours, through snow and loaded down with stuff, to Anga's Mill and then a couple more to Windhelm.

At the stables Helsette had taken a carriage to Winterhold and Ralis was sent to Whiterun with messages for the Breezehome steward and deliveries to Warmaiden's.

 _He he! Ha ho!  
_ _To the workshop he will go!_

 _Uncle Sweetshare is coming near  
_ _To spread his candy and his cheer..._

Blasted ear maggot still eating at his brain after all this time.


	16. Riften Connections

**Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories may not be in chronological order.

* * *

RIFTEN CONNECTIONS

"You sure she's gone?" the gate guard said to the guard who'd just come from inside the city. Getting yet another assurance the gate guard waived Revyn and Savela in.

"What was that about, sir?" asked Savela. She held tightly to his left arm while nervously looking about, watching people who came too close.

Revyn patted her hand. "Just a little misunderstanding. It's been three years and one would think they'd have gotten over it, but my wife and I got into a little trouble here that upset some people." Savela still looked confused but just shook her head. The stares of some of the people they passed spooked her and she went to staring either at the ground or pressing her face against his shoulder.

"Ah, here we are. The Bee and Barb."

The breakfast/really late evening crowd had cleared out so at the moment the only customers were an elderly Nord at a table and an two mages chatting on a bench near the door to the market. The Imperial mage, Marcurio saw him and lifted a hand in greeting. His Dunmer companion glanced back at them. Revyn nodded, acknowledging them, then turned as a tall Argonian, balancing a large keg on his shoulders, came from below stairs.

"So, Revyn, you finally return," hissed the Argonian with good humor.

"Talen-Jei, good to see you. And where is the lovely Keerava?"

The Argonian grinned and gave a small, hissing laugh. "Keerava is upstairs fussing over the room your lady just left this morning. So regrettable you missed her by a few hours."

"Oh, the world can be so cruel," Revyn fatuously remarked.

The Argonian laughed again and tossed two sets of keys at him. "No, just good civic sense. Your wife left some things behind for you."

"Thanks. Ah, and, Talen-Jei, this is my apprentice, Savela. Savela, this is Talen-Jei, co-owner of this fine establishment." Talen-Jei greeted her. She managed to squeak out a reply and before hiding again behind Revyn. "Sorry. She's a former resident of Honorhall and just a bit overwhelmed at the moment." The Argonian indicated understanding and sympathy if one knew Argonian body language.

They went upstairs. Revyn carefully avoided the hard-eyed gaze of the woman seated at a table in a corner niche. She was trouble he'd like to avoid. "Quick look. Maven Black-Briar," he whispered to Savela. They'd talked about her on the way to Riften. He wanted to make sure Savela recognized that one to avoid her.

"So you return to the crime scene," Keerava said, emerging from the room ahead and lightly punched his arm. "She left a lot of junk behind. I expect you to take it all with you when you go." She looked at Savela. "You room is that one on your left. If you use a lock on the room's trunk and you leave without taking it off, we wait three days then we break open the trunk and sell its contents. Use a magic lock, three days, then turn it over to the Jarl's wizard to break. Got it? Good." A few more sharp pleasantries with Revyn then she went about her business.

They setted in their respective rooms and then inspected the "junk" left behind in Revyn's room trunk. A fat purse of drakes and gems. Two glass swords, an enchanted dragonpriest dagger, four Dwemer centurion cores, books in good conditions (none marked to keep), gloves, boots, belts, various enchantments. Stuff that were likely leftovers that hadn't sold to the local vendors only because they ran out of coin. No matter, he'd time their visit to coincide with Ahkari's caravan which should arrive in two days. He could offload most of this on her.

They had lunch and then went to tour the main market area.

They listened to the polished spiel of a red-haired Nord man promoting the miraculous properties of oil from nirnroot fed horkers. Revyn made comments to his apprentice, pointing out the eye contact, hand gestures, friendly, confident tones of a practiced huckster spewing utter garbage.

"Thieves Guild," whispered Savela.

"Yes, I know. One of their officers. He distracts while his cohorts try to cut your purse if he can't legitimately con your coin away." Revy flipped a coin to an elderly beggar and moved to an Argonian's stall, exchanged greetings and looked over some items.

Then onto an armor seller's stall where he exchanged some sharp words with that one. The merchant, Grelka, was frightening to Savela who instinctively cringed away from the harsh, brittle tones. But she listened closely as Revyn met the woman's ill-temper with his own imperturbable mildness. He even paid her for a quick lecture regarding light armor pieces from a warrior's point of view and he made sure Savela paid attention. The armor seller's attitude may be opposite of what Revyn taught, but her knowledge of the armor and weapons she sold was precise and backed by experience. Revyn confided to Savela that his own wife on occasion paid for light armor lessons with this woman.

"But she doesn't sell chitin armor," Savela pointed out.

"Correct. She sells what's commonly used in Skyrim, what most foes wear. And by knowing the strengths of each type of armor..." he prompted, looking expectantly at her.

Savela reviewed Grelka's lecture. "Knowing what's good... Oh. And knowing what's bad. Oh, I see."

"Advantages and disadvantages," Revy corrected gently. "Couch purchase options in terms of greater and lesser advantage. 'Good' and 'bad' aren't necessarily bad descriptions, but it does set unnecessary limits or seeming moral judgments that do not take into account circumstances, the product user's needs, skills, and expectations."

"Um..."

"Just try not to use the words 'good' and 'bad' when trying to sell something. People can have strange responses when you tell them something's either 'good' for them or 'bad' for them."

Lower level of Riften, doors and walkways barely a meter above the water level, to visit the alchemy shop. Elgrim's Elixirs. The thick smell of herbs permeated the shop like it did in the White Phial, but unlike the Phial here was the damp miasma of the canal and sewers. Revyn couldn't imagine the humid conditions and fumes were any good for the herbs. His skin had itched for months after the wedding fiasco when guards had dumped buckets of canal water on him and his bride. He had to consciously suppress the urge to scratch. And poor Savela couldn't stop sneezing.

Ingun Black-Briar was an interesting piece. Her fascination with poisons and watching animals dying from them was unsettling. She also recalled better than Elgrim having seen a womer matching the description of Savela's mother. After a quick, assessing glance at Savela, Revyn engaged Ingun in a discussion about local poisons and her experiments, always bringing her back and around to local necromancy groups in the area that patronized the shop.

Savela's mother had stopped in some months earlier looking a bit run down and had purchased potions for one's health. She had asked about any Dunmer girls seen in Honorhall and had appeared very distressed at hearing there was none. She hadn't been back since.

Yes, plenty of necromancers in the area. Lost of dead bodies from little battles between Imperial and Stormcloak camps, lots of animals, lots of Dunmer types who like the hot, volcanic areas in the Rift, lots of bandits and witches.

Most necromancers didn't usually shop in Riften. However, most ingredients associated with necromancy have been regularly ordered by the Dunmer couple at Merryfair farm. Llanith was their name.

The left the shop and returned to the upper level to sit at a bench just outside the Bee & Barb. She sat, head down, her slender hands flexing, rubbing, fisting as she fought through her thoughts and emotions. Revyn said nothing but watched the passing people and occasionally glancing at her.

At 13 years now this past month. She was coming along nicely from the starved child he'd caught stealing from his shop. Being half human she was further along than a mer child would be in terms of physical development. Intellectually, she was bright by standards of either race. Her emotional status worried him the most. So far she was cautiously affectionate, primarily even-tempered, and wasn't flustered or panicked with aggressive and/or rude customers. Hard to tell what may be natural emotional maturity or forced control learned at Honorhall.

When the sun started sinking below the outer walls of the city he said, "Time for dinner. We can try Honorhall tomorrow or we can walk over to the Merryfair farm and see if the Llanith's are willing to talk to us. Come." He stood up and trusted her to follow as he went into the Bee and Barb.

Savela asked to take dinner in her room and Revyn let her.

He saw Aesgir Snow-Shod enter and intercepted him before he could join his father who was already into a second tankard of mead.

"Serjo Snow-Shod. Revyn Sadri from Windhelm. Well met! I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time. Nothing to do with the meadery business, rather a special order you'd placed with Orthos at the East Empire office in Windhelm."

The Nord's expression at being suddenly accosted was faintly puzzled but open and willing to listen. "Sadri, Sadri... Oh, yes, Orthos mentioned you. You've been very helpful getting the East Empire an agent back in Morrowind. Vittoria is excited about the possibilities if she can re-establish there. Yes, I can spare a few moments."

"Excellent." Revyn guided him to the bar and ordered a Cliff Racer for himself and Snow-Shod was willing to accept, surprisingly, a Velvet Lechance. Even Talen-Jei indicated mild surprise that the Nord co-owner of the Black-Briar Meadery was daring to drink something other than his company's product.

"Orthos tells me you were looking for unique gifts for your bride's family, something only a reborn East Empire Company connection could procure."

"Yes. But then Orthos was suggesting weapons and armor and, well, what unique pieces..." The Nord's voice trailed off as Revyn laid in front of him his stahlrim knife. A beautiful piece of translucent edged ice overlaying a core of packed snow.

"Stahlrim is only found on Solstheim. Magic-infused ice as hard as ebony and half the weight. Mined and shaped by the Skaal, descendants of Atmorans who settled on the island before the First Era. Unmelting. It takes enchantments well enough, but has an affinity to elemental cold.

"Orthos has seen that I have a full armor set and variety of weapons. My wife is a reputable enchantress — the finest outside of Winterhold College — and can set enchantments of your choice on whatever pieces you choose.

"Razelan, the East Empire man stationed on Solstheim, is working to gain the trust of the Skaal who mine and shape this rare ore. In time, there may be a custom order only export through the East Empire."

"May I?" asked Aesgir, hand hovering over the knife.

"Of course, of course."

Aesgir Snow-Shod picked up the blade, gently fingering the edge and test the weight and balance. He held it close to an oil lamp along a wall and watched the flames light the edges through the blade. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"Pretty bauble. Is it supposed to be a man's weapon?" Sneered the velvet fop coming up to stand on Aesgir's right. Behind the arrogant creature was mama nightmare, Maven Black-Briar.

"It's from Solstheim, Hemming," Aesgir said in a wearily patient voice.

"A cheap dark elf imitation of glass then?" Hemming was utterly immune to the death glares of several pairs of red eyes around the bar.

"It's stahlrim, Hemming. Quite rare. Quite expensive," Maven Black-Briar said repressively. Her gaze fell on Revyn, who politely bowed and shuffled back out of strike range. She tapped her son on the shoulder and he quickly moved out of her way.

"Evening, Maven. I'm looking for a unique gift for my bride's cousin and Revyn here is showing me a sample that the manager at the East Empire in Windhelm had written to me about."

"Revyn Sadri of Windhelm. I've been hearing things about you," said Maven, staring thoughtfully at him.

"A humble seller of used goods, madam. I occasionally have the fortune of unique items crossing my counter," Revyn said in a depreciating voice.

"Oh, yes. Now I remember. You and a woman tried to burn my city down a few years ago."

"A misunderstanding, madam. It was a wedding and an unfortunate confluence of uninvited guests."

"You were banned."

"The ban only prevents my wife and I from being in Riften at the same time, madam. I am here merely to talk to some people. And I was fortunate to come across Serjo Snow-Shod here tonight, else I would have tried to visit him —

"—you," he turned back to Aesgir, "later at either your office in the meadery or at your home."

"Tonight as good as any," said Aesgir, who had gone back to admiring the knife. "I think I would be interested in seeing other pieces. You are in Windhelm you say?"

"Yes. Sadri's Used Wares in the Gray Quarter.

Hemming started laughing. "Wait, you're going to buy the Emperor gifts from a second-hand junk trader?" he crowed, loud enough to silence everyone in the taproom.

"Hemming." Maven's low voice was flat with displeasure. Her son immediately shut up and slunk away to a table.

A few more words and Snow-Shod agreed he would come to Windhelm by next month to see what Sadri had and to take a tour of the Windhelm office of the East Empire Company.

Revyn would've hastened away but a new crowd had come in and was converging at the bar, pushing him back towards it and then aside into the Black-Briar.

Her hand clamped on his shoulder to steady him and hold him in place. "I have some questions about your... business," she said.

"Revyn! Finally dug yourself out of the snow I hear the gods dumped on Windhelm," said a cheery voice with a strong Hlaalu accent, and a hand snaked out of the crowd and pulled him from Black-Briar's grip and through a gap in the bodies.

His rescuer was the blue-robed Dunmer he'd seen earlier with Marcurio. A young mer, mixed blood with round features and improbably curly hair, indecently pretty for a male. One Revyn was clear of crowd the young mer released him and grinned apologetically. "Sorry, but you looked like you needed a rescue, serjo."

"Revyn, please. And, yes, many thanks. And who do I owe a drink to?"

"Call me 'Tallen.' Mycologist sometimes bard. Came through Stonefalls from Ebonhart." He guided Revyn to the bench next to the market door exit.

Marcurio, a mercenary mage based in the Bee and Barb, moved aside to make room for the two of them.

"Hey, Revyn," said Marcurio.

"Marcurio. Any interesting jobs lately?"

The Imperial made a rude noise. "Hardly. I see you've met Tallen. He and I were at the Imperial College."

"Do you also do mercenary work?" Revyn asked Tallen. Talen-Jei came by and took drink orders which Revyn paid for.

"If the coin is good enough," answered Tallen. "But as I said, I'm studying mushrooms. Not much work around here for mercenary mushroomers."

"And a bard you said?"

Tallen unslung the long, slender leader case off his back. He untied a flap to reveal the head of two-stringed hu'uchir. Fully revealed the wood and pegs were from the rare red bamboo from Black Marsh, the drumlike resonator of stretched guar hide, and the strands of the bow stripped from the stalk of a giant mushroom, woody fibers beaten and soaked until softened, and the instrument strings from the rainbow silk of a schalk spider. If his skill matched the quality of the instrument, what as he doing wandering Skyrim?

"Ah, it's been so long since I heard music from such an instrument. Not since I was child in the Ashlands."

"Heh, maybe I'll put down a bowl in the marketplace and play. Perhaps tomorrow if I don't find something more interesting to do."

"So what are you up to?" asked Marcurio. Revyn was happy to talk. Marcurio and his friend were good company, informative, and they made it easier to ignore Black-Briar's glowering regard.

+—+—+—+—+

"It was quite sudden. She just went to sleep and never woke up," said the pleasant-faced young Nord, Constance Michel her name and new Matron of Honorhall.

Revyn sat with her in the kitchen area having tea and a slice of cake while Savela visited with those she remembered from her time here. The door to the small courtyard was open and he could hear the younger children out there playing.

"It was so hectic. All these years of dreaming how I would change things and then one day it happens and I just couldn't steady myself. But I had help."

"A good time for the civic-minded to step up," Revyn said as he teased out some plump snowberries from the cake and ate the tiny, sugared morsels with appreciation.

"One would think. But no. I was helped by a Dunmer mercenary who had been paid to deliver two orphans from Falkreath. He was a miracle, especially after Grelod, not to speak ill of the dead, but she lit into him because one was barely weaned and the other not even two years as if it were all his fault.

"And, oh, she didn't like him. As near to striking an adult with her first as ever she dared. And he wasn't reacting to her, just standing there with his face expressionless as a statue, staring down at her, he was the most frightening man I'd ever seen.

"When the baby started crying he went to her and picked her up. It was so... so... the way he held her close to his face and she grabbed that single white lock of hair he had... it was so cute. And he was so gentle. So unexpected.

"Grelod went into a rage and threw a tankard of ale at him, screaming at him to leave. I think she was about to hit him with a small cheese wheel but he did look at her so and she went to her room. Didn't come out for the rest of the day while he was there."

Constance went on in this vein for longer, clearly infatuated with the Dunmer warrior. Revyn was wondering if there was something in his tea. He must have imagined it. The description... Surely there weren't two whitelocked Dunmer warriors wandering around Skyrim, were there?

"... couldn't have done it without Selrun..."

So. Selrun Mor, the ex-Ordinator now Whiterun guard, father of the Dragonborn's steward.

"You say that very evening Grelod died?" he reiterated, suddenly horribly suspicious. _You're being paranoid_ , he told himself. _Just because Ordinators hunted and summarily executed your kin..._

"Yes. I found her next morning when I went to see why she had not come out for breakfast.

"Thank the Divines that Selrun stopped by that morning to check on the two children. I was just a total wreck..."

A natural death or so it appeared. Revyn wondered if a visit with the priest of Arkay would be in order.

And just a quickly dismissed the entire matter.

The Aretino boy who had run away from Honorhall had finally been taken into custody by the Jarl's men. The rumors of the boy performing the black sacrament to summon a Dark Brotherhood assassin had grown too strong. There had been an investigation, the guards and broken in and found the boy, mad from starvation and lack of sleep, mindlessly chanting the sacrament over the desecrated, rotted corpse of his mother. He was being treated by the priests of Talos now. The Jarl was looking for someone to appoint as the boy's guardian and trustee of the Aretino fortune. The Aretino house was claimed for the crown and likely to be awarded to a new thane.

And the children like Savela who'd sooner run to die in the wilds or take their chances in the dark underbelly of slums than stay here.

No. Constance Michel was looking forward to a happier future for her and the children. The orphanage had a strong protector who, once he fully knew what was going on, would certainly be looking to get the orphanage out of Black-Briar control if not out of Riften entirely. Revyn decided that, apart from a few words to Selrun's daughter in Whiterun, all that was needed was a little artful arrangement and the stock could sell on its own.

He got her to let him look at the books for the house, normally done by the late Grelod or Hemming Black-Briar.

Clumsy and over confident was his easy judgment just after a quick skim.

Now he made an excuse to check on Savela to whisper some instructions. Savela went to Constance and started to ask her a lot of questions. While Constance was distracted he went into Grelod's room and started searching for little hidey-holes.

A false bottom in a clothes drawer and a loose floorboard under the bed. Now he had on his lap true accounts books, a ledger of current and past children and their individuals qualities. Letters from prospectors wanting children of certain abilities or looks. Sibbi's list of requirements for girls. Children who had trust funds whose "lucky" new parents could claim possession of with the child and the Black-Briar cut and Grelod's. Grelod's secret accounts.

Into his carrysack they all went.

Revyn offered to do some shopping in the marketplace for Constance and return before suppertime. He went straight for the market. Local help was needed and he knew whose debt it was time to call in.

"Brand-Shei, a moment, if you please."

+—+—+—+—+

"Absolutely not! Melt them down!"

"I think you need to calm down, Revyn." Balimund grabbed the small steel knife out of Revyn's hand and nonchalantly tossed it into the case with the others. It was only about two dozen cutlery knives — steel, one-piece, single-side sharpened blade and squirrel tail handles. Totally common at first glance.

In the right hands, they burned hot enough to slice iron ingots and needed no soulgem to recharge.

The right hands happened to be virgin females.

Balimund had created them in the after-fires of his half-destroyed smithy. Revyn and Helsette had just been dragged off by the guards as public menaces. The impromptu Dunmer marriage ceremony had set fire to his forge and the flames had cracked stone and was melting the steel ingots he'd had piled on the rim. Rather than lose the steel into the coals he scooped up what he could and poured it into flat molds for iron cutlery. The resulting pieces he'd had his apprentice polish and sharpen for sale.

Some mishaps involving children, girls specifically, and he'd had to buy back the knives. He and the court mage eventually worked out that his forge that fateful day had been affected by peculiar magics that would have been imparted to any blade forged in those flames.

The knives were only affected because afterwards he'd let the fires die and let the forge cool so that he could repair the heat cracked wall and foundation of the forge and walls of his house.

"Melt them!" Sadri insisted. His face was quite purple from embarrassment.

"Don't be that way, Revyn. Helsette didn't have any problem with me putting them up for sale. You get a third of the net profit. Quite generous considering what it cost me to repair my forge and my house and the week I was out of business while repairs were being done."

"We offered to compensate you for that but you refused."

"True. But I've changed my mind and I am going to sell these knives." The old Nord grinned with unapologetic humor. "I like you, Revyn, but this is business. Don't worry, I won't sell cheap. It's not like you'll be tossing any more brides onto my forge so once they're gone that's it. Helsette assures me the enchantment can't be duplicated."

"Gods. Alright, alright. If my wife has no problem, I suppose I can live with it. Just call it anything, anything else than 'Sadri's Blade.' They hear about this in Windhelm I'll never get any peace."

"Huh. How about, hm, 'Maiden's Defense'? A bit more accurate and would probably sell better. What do you think?"

"Whatever."

"Cheer up. C'mon, lunch and drinks at the Bee and Barb, my treat. Hey, Savela, just in time for lunch. Bee and Barb, my treat," he invited as the young girl entered the forge area. She had a large basket of fish.

"Thank you, sir, but I need to deliver this to Honorhall and I was going to stay for lunch there. Did you need me for anything?" she asked Revyn.

"No. Enjoy your lunch."

"Oh, wait. A gift," said Balimund. He gestured towards the knives. "New enchanted blades I'm selling. Have one."

Savela glanced at Revyn to check if he disapproved. His gaze had a strange intensity that puzzled her but he didn't seem to forbid it so she reached and picked up the first one she touched. She was started when it seemed to catch fire in her hands. "Oh! Is it suppose to do that?" She set down her basket and experimentally held her left hand over the flames, awed that despite the flames curling around her palm, she felt no heat.

"Yes, dear, it's suppose to," Revyn said.


	17. Kinnected

_Aurora Nova — Nope. But, 1 year "_ _upselling" fries with burgers, desserts on top of milkshakes. 1st job out of high school was a 4-year stint as the donkey in a one-horse office for an ambitious business BA w/an RE license who was intent on creating his own business mergers & acquisitions firm. Relevant movie of the time was "Working Girl" — keywords: "intangible assets." Also, interesting job typing up a patent for an online gambling & adware company with marketing model and methodology for identifying/targeting, acquiring, sustaining, retention of a customer base. **2nd post: whoops. Right. was going off Vulwulf's overheard remarks to Aesgir about Maven**  
_

 _AnotherGuest — Maven's going to have to catch him first (if she has the time)._

 _Hija de la Tempestad — Already started. Revyn's not done losing his cool in Riften._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

KINNECTED

Ingun Black-Briar remembered seeing the womer described in the letters Revyn had sent out over a year ago, and her memories further directed them to Merryfair farm just outside of Riften. It was owned by a Dunmer couple and had only become a customer after Savela's mother had been sighted. The farmers grew and sold the usual variety crop so ordering stuff only of interest to healers and necromancers was unusual.

Not that it would normally be their business what customers bought but a law had been enacted in Riften about a decade ago that certain alchemical ingredients were to be considered a "watched" substance and buyers reported to the Jarl's steward. It had been a proposal by Maven Black-Briar, in fact, who'd justified it as a way to keep track of the growing number of necromancers invading Riften. The Jarl had thought it a fine idea. Elgrim thought it a waste of time because buyers of that sort rarely left a name, much less an address, but it did track a growing trend of necromantic activity in the Rift.

The Merryfair farm was a short distance west from the city stables.

"Have you been able to recall anything about the Llaniths?"

"No," Savela said sadly. "I don't remember ever visiting the farm. When I ran away from Honorhall I traveled along the other side of the lake."

"How about the names, Dravin and Synda? Uncle Dravin or Cousin Dravin; Aunt Synda, Cousin Synda? Brother? Sister?"

"A... A sister. 'Sinna,' I thought. Could be Synda. Mother was waiting, saying she was coming later. But then mother was caught." She sighed then visibly shrugged off her melancholy. "But this is good. This is the first solid lead in months."

Revyn smiled. "So it is, Savela."

"Ho!"

Revyn and Savela stopped. Revyn recognized the blue-robed Dunmer who had rescued him a previous evening from Black-Briar. The mer trotted up to them. He had a basket full of mushrooms and neat bundles of flowers and leafy plants. He grinned at Savela who blushed and looked away.

"Fine morning for a walk. Going to Merryfair?"

"Yes, to both," Revyn said coolly. "How did you know?"

"Hafjorg," Tallen answered with a sly half-grin. "I was selling some mushrooms to her and she shared with me the letter you had sent out about a necromancer you were looking for. This was two weeks ago when I first came to the area. I'd gone in to sell some excess plants I'd gathered while walking from Ebonhart to here, and I'd offered to look for plants for the shop while I was out and about gathering more mushrooms.

"And, no, I hadn't found your necromancer, but I've sighted some necromancer camps around the lake area.

"As for Merryfair, Ingun had been reminded by your visit that there was delivery that needed to be made to the farm. I did that yesterday. Fox leaf rot — a poison that works by over-stimulating the heart until it fails. Necromancers like it because it's the basis for a drug to make a freshly dead corpse's heart to beat at least for a half mark, provided the death was by strangulation, certain types of poison, or any type of death that doesn't damage the heart, hasn't caused massive bleeding, or change in blood character such as red asp poison that turns blood to the quality of jelly.

"Pretty damn bold of them considering Elgrim is required by Riften law to report suspected necromancers to the Jarl's steward. Never heard of that until I came here.

"Well, catch you later. I'm heading back and selling this basket to Elgrim then I'm spending the rest of the day singing for my supper in the market. I hope you come back in time to hear me play."

"What a strange one," Savela remarked when the mer had left. "I've seen him the Bee and Barb along with that mage that's always by the door."

Revyn hummed acknowledgement. "Spellswords the both of them. My wife has worked with Marcurio and says he's honorable and trustworthy to his employers. Marcurio was trained by the Synod. Tallen claims training at both the Imperial schools of the Synod and the College of Whispers, also personal Telvanni tutors from Morrowind. Both are entertaining and have lots of information outside of Riften.

"I did tell them what our business was in Riften, especially as they gave me a brief rescue from the Black-Briar. Tallen's made another point of being helpful. Probably has heard from Marcurio my wife pays very well and is generous with bonuses."

"A spellsword that gathers mushrooms and sings for coin?"

"Tallen is practical. Money is money and he practices alchemy so he recognizes coin that's just growing free in the ground."

"Ah!" Savela lightly clapped her hands as an idea lit up her face. "And he knows where necromancers are. Maybe, maybe we should talk to him afterwards; hire him to take a closer look at those camps?"

"Excellent thinking. Let's hope his price is reasonable."

Merryfair Farm. Dravin Llanith was pushing a millstone and Synda Llanith was milking the cow. Revyn stopped at the path that led to the farm. "Savela, shall I approach them or do you feel you can do this?" he asked.

Savela took two slow, deep breaths. "I can do this."

He was pleased. She could be confident and assertive in the shop but still the shy mouse outside. The hope of finding her mother was stoking the fire of her spirit "I'm right behind you, dear. Go for it."

Savela took another deep breath, set her shoulders, and strode confidently up the path. "Good morning," she called.

Dravin Llanith raised his head and pushed off the mill beam. He dragged his arm across his forehead and stared hard at the slender girl walking boldly up to him. "Synda!" he barked without taking his gaze off her.

His wife hung the half-filled milk pail on a nail and then joined her husband. She also studied Savela with an intensity that was quite rude. Excusable rudeness if it was indicative of the desired result.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Savela Nethri. I am hoping you know Selveni Nethri, my mother." She shifted slightly to fully face Synda. "Records from the temple in Gnisis indicated no siblings. Yet my mother once mentioned a baby sister. 'Sinna.' Are you possibly her?"

Before she could answer Dravin demanded, "And how does this bring you to my farm?"

Savela's cheeks were blue, flagging how high her emotions were, but her voice and expression remained calm. "I have to start somewhere. I was at Honorhall. If my mother was still alive, she'd have to come to Riften to look for me. She was seen in Riften. The alchemists in the city remember her. They also say you order things that only necromancers are interested in. And, by law, they have to report to the Jarl's steward who orders those types of materials."

Dravin swore. By the stricken look on Synda's face, they hadn't realized that that was a law in Riften.

"What do farmers need with fox leaf rot? I'm sure I'm not the only one who knows there are necromancers in The Rift despite the practice being illegal.

"Oh, another patrol is coming up here. Trolling for dead bodies perhaps?"

Dravin tensed up even more. The patrol had stopped to question Revyn, presumably why he was loitering there on the path.

Savela suddenly threw her arms wide and declared loudly, happily, "Uncle Dravin! Aunt Synda!" and threw herself at him. Dravin reflexively hugged her as he staggered and worked to keep upright. His wife automatically reached to catch him, hugging him as she braced him.

It was quite a touching picture.

Revyn pointed at them, said something to the guards, and shrugged. The guards routed around the farm.

Revyn decided it was time to get involved. Savela's intimidation by speculation approach followed by a hard sell attack had surprised him; he hadn't thought her ready for such deviousness. "Everything going well here?"

"And who in Oblivion are you?" Dravin demanded.

"Revyn Sadri, shopkeeper, Windhelm. Savela is my apprentice. So, are you her kin or not?"

"If she speaks true, yes, I am her aunt," said Synda, releasing her husband and pulling at Savela. "I was born after the fall of our home. On the road. We lived a few years in a small village outside Blacklight. Mother fell sick but she urged father and Selveni to leave with the caravan that they'd already paid a spot for. They were suppose to go on ahead and find a home. Mother and I would find another caravan when she was better. She didn't get any better and eventually died. I was still too young to travel so I stayed with a family, worked as a maidservant until I was old enough and had saved enough to find a caravan. I met Dravin here in the caravan.

"Refugee's Rest was in ruins. I had no idea how to begin a search for family I knew nothing ab out." She sighed and her husband gave her a quick, comforting hug then went to fetch the milk pail.

"I'll finish with the cow. You take our niece here inside and talk," he said gruffly. To Revyn he said, "You can wait out here or return to Riften as you like. Or you an make yourself useful and start pulling carrots for tomorrow's market."

Two buckets of carrots, a small cart of cabbages and a willingness to take a turn at the millstone was enough to sweeten Dravin's temper and get him talking.

Selveni had found them eight months ago when she had come to Riften in search of her daughter. She'd seen Synda, in the market, seen the strong resemblance to herself and her mother, and had followed her to the farm. This was the story she told them:

She and her father had initially wandered The Pale looking in vain for a friendly place to settle. Her father was injured by a frost troll, took sick during recovery, and died. She'd been found by a group of necromancers and had been spared because one of them, a Redguard and eventually Savela's father, had decided to keep her.

The group moved to Falkreath Hold, settled into a cave, and were discovered by an Altmer mage exploring the area. The mage evaded capture and reported them. Jarl Dengeir led his guards in the attack and those that weren't immediately killed — prisoners, members caught sleeping, children — were to be taken back to Falkreath to stand trial and the convicted to be executed. Children under 12, Savela and two others, were automatically sent to Honorhall.

She escaped, got caught up in a robber band of spellswords led by a powerful Orsimer mage. She dared to take an unauthorized trip to Riften to try to find her daughter, but failed and returned only to be accused of treachery. They'd cursed her, depriving her of her magic, then pushed her into the tunnel full of frost spiders where she'd been cucooned for later eating. She'd been saved days later by a chitin-armed mercenary and a talking dog.

The journey back to Riften was slow and perilous as she no longer had any magic to defend herself. But she made it and she found them. She'd taken up with other necromancers, hoping that another among them might know how to remove her curse. But, none were interested in helping her unless she could reciprocate and the only skill she had, had been forced to learn, was her skill in alchemy for poisons and other drugs necromancers found useful.

Dravin hadn't liked the idea of ordering the ingredients and his farm used as a delivery and pickup point, but he'd agreed for his wife's sake. And that law about reporting suspected necromancers, that explained why the patrols kept bothering him. His wife kept telling him not to lose his temper with the guards, they can't afford any more fines, but they came, tramped through his crops, and didn't do a thing about the thieves, bears, wolves or other dangers.

No, he didn't know when Selveni would next show up or where she camped. But he certainly would have some choice words with her before sending her onto Windhelm.

+—+—+—+—+

Brand-Shei returned to Revyn the original Honorhall accounts ledger. They were in one of Ahkari's caravan tents. The guards had seen Revyn go to Khajiit caravan with a large sack of goods. They didn't see the invisible Brand-Shei with him.

They were having a talk out here because while Revyn and Savela were at Merryfair Farm, Hemming Black-Briar had visited Honorhall to do the books. He'd also bulled his way into Grelod's room but failed to find the hidden spots. Michel mentioned Revyn's visit and Revyn had been followed since returning to the city. He'd had Savela deliver a basket of trinkets, the invisibility potions among them and a folded note at the bottom of the basked, to Madesi who redelivered the basket to Brand-Shei at Haelga's Bunkhouse.

"Everybody with any good sense knew what a piece of work Grelod was. But if anybody even thought she was a child slaver even our Jarl couldn't have ignored that inconvenient truth. Maven's investment in Honorhall explains a lot how Grelod stayed there as long as she did," Brand-Shei said. He yawned. He'd worked non-stop to copy the four true accounts ledgers since Revyn had tapped him yesterday for the job.

"But now she's got the meadery and doesn't need to pretend to be a great civic leader by sponsoring Honorhall. It used to be run by the previous Jarl, but Jarl Laila easily gave it up when Maven convinced her a jarl had more important concerns. Naturally, Maven also gets all the honorariums all the Holds pay for Honorhall taking in all their unwanted orphans and all the money for all the childen Grelod adopted out. Sorry. Sold.

"The celebrated Black-Briar Meadery." Brand-Shei's voice was thick with loathing. "Aesgir Snow-Shod's gold financed half the startup cost. He manages the day-to-day business and keeps it profitable for her. She's got the fool convinced that she's necessary for the success of the venture because, after all, she comes from a long line of merchants with many long-standing contacts around Tamriel whereas his family are just locally known warriors and vociferous Stormcloak supporters.

"She must be over the moons thinking how she'll take over the East Empire Company once Aesgir marries the Emperor's cousin, Vittoria."

"She overreaches," Revyn stated. "The higher she climbs, the tougher the opposition. All it takes are the right words in the right ears. Vici may choose to live in provinces yet she is still a Mede and potential throne candidate. She well knows how power plays are staged.

"Now Honorhall. Yes. Now is the time to be rid of Honorhall. Constance Michel is not Grelod. If she'd found the books, she'd have reported it and then she'd have a mysterious death. But Miss Michel unknowingly found herself a protector and I've already sent a courier to him to suggest he take advantage of events. He'll need your help of course. You know who the players are in town better than I."

"Not a local then?"

"Not even a Nord. Dunmer and Morrowind born and currently working at Whiterun. And you needn't worry that he'll come into town like a king razor-tusk protecting his pack. His daughter happens to be the Dragonborn's steward and I expect he — and by extent, you — will have her assistance and the implied patronage of the Dragonborn. That should make it easy for the Black-Briar to withdraw, um, gracefully."

"The Dragonborn? Alright then," Brand-Shei grumbled. "But it's still not right Maven comes off clean from this."

"She won't in the long run. You'll see," Revyn assured him firmly. "Now, anything you'd like to suggest?"

"What about Mjoll the Lioness?" Brand-Shei named the local warrior heroine who'd named herself Riften's protector.

"Absolutely not. Black-Briar deals in assassins and thieves. My wife has ventured with the Lioness. Mjoll well deserves the name but a lioness is not particularly suited for hunting rats and snakes and night predators."

"What do you plan to do with the original ledgers? You had me make a copy of it. Why not keep the original with the other books and lists?"

"The Black-Briar knows Grelod will have tried to create her own insurance of safety so she had Hemming searching Grelod's room. He's incompetent and failed. Maven will send a pet thief to do a more thorough search."

"Which will turn up the ledger," Brand-Shei, "letting her think she's safe."

"Actually, no. She'll know there was more. With any luck she'll first suspect her own Thieves Guild of trying to hold out on her."

Kharjo, whose tent they were using, hissed outside the door flap then stuck his head in. "Done yet? This one wants to get some sleep now."

+—+—+—+—+

He'd been to Honorhall, he'd wandered around the market, and he'd been to Elgrim's Elixirs but no one had seen Savela. She had not come down for breakfast and when he'd checked her room her bed had not been slept in. The Thieves Guild did not deal in kidnapping but he would not put it past the Black-Briars if they really suspected him of working against them. Could she have gone back to Merryfair on her own?

He waited at the gates and eventually Dravin and Synda came into view. Together they were pulling a cart of vegetables, sacks of flour, and small, wrapped chunks of farm cheese. He did not see Savela with them.

He asked. No, she had not come back to their farm. They were expecting to spend the rest of the day with her in Riften after they'd delivered their products to buyers.

They pushed the cart inside Riften. Just as they got to the Bee and Barb Savela came running up to them. The spellsword, Tallen, sauntered along behind her.

"Uncle Dravin! Aunt Synda!" She danced up to Dravin, holding an elegant longbow to him. "We found your bow!"

"What? How did you... Never mind. Tell me you didn't go into the Ratway by yourself!" Dravin demanded, grabbing her upper arms, ignoring the bow.

"What?" Revyn exclaimed, horrified. "Savela, what were you... Where..." He stopped and glared at Tallen. "You. Explain yourself."

Tallen's eyebrows lifted. "Sorry, friend, I don't owe you any explanation. Talk to my employer." He nodded at Savela.

Dravin had released Savela to Synda's arms. He'd taken back his bow and was holding it a slightly defensive position. "My fault I guess, serjo. She took it on herself to retrieve my bow those fetching thieves stole two weeks ago."

"My fault," insisted Synda. "I told her about it and how upset Dravin was to lose his family heirloom. But I never dreamed... Oh, Savela, it wasn't worth risking your life for."

"It wasn't any risk," Savela insisted, her expression stubborn. "I hired Tallen to protect me while I looked.

"You hired. With what?" he asked, incredulous. " I know you've been saving what I pay you but it's all in Windhelm. Mercenaries don't work on promises." Not waiting on an answer, he turned on the spellsword intending to...

Calm. Fear, anger, shock all slid away leaving him faintly bemused. But, not entirely devoid of thought.

 _Bespelled._ He glanced at Dravin and Synda and recognized the same calmness in their expression and posture. _Huh._ _Cute. Calm your marks into indifference so that they don't care if you rob them blind or walk up to them and slit their throats. Or, a rout spell to make them run away. Master level. Never saw the cast or felt the power draw; able to affect multiple targets._

 _Calm down. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the spell. Calm down. Stay awake. Think._

"So an invisibility spell and/or potions," Revyn speculated aloud. _Calm, control, so cool that I'm cold; indifferent to tension and shock..._

"Only for the little miss. Nirnroot upsets my stomach and I try to not to ingest vampire dust on principle. Fresh out of chaurus eggs."

"I'm still mad at you," Revyn stated, yawning. "Flippant son of a —"

"Ah-ah-ah. Language, serjo." The spellsword smirked at him. Revyn felt the faintest twinge of irritation and yawned again as the spell exerted itself. Tallen looked at Savela. "Savela, I'll trot out and start looking for your mother. Shouldn't take me long to trace her and bring her to Windhelm."

"Fetcher," Revyn said as the spellsword brushed past him.

Tallen stopped and gave him another gut-churning smirk. "You kiss my baby sister with that mouth?" His Morrowind accent was gone and instead was pure Cyrodiil.

Revyn yawned again; staggered towards the nearest bench and sat down. He was being _pacified_ to sleep.

"The name's Taliesin Faro Felix." He tucked something into Revyn's belt. "Baby sister wrote this introduction. I'm not apologizing for withholding it until I'd looked you over.

"Nice to meet you. Sorry it took so long for the family to connect."


	18. Kindread

_AuroraNova — Thanks for the heads up. Fixed._

 _Another Guest — Inevitable that they'd catch up to him. Well, she does come from a family of mixed cultures and bloodlines. And they travel a lot so picking up local accents can be handy when blending in._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

KINDREAD

"So how was the trip to Riften? Find Savela's mother?" The afternoon lunch crowd had thinned out and Ambarys sat down opposite Revyn after setting down a tray with two tankards and a bowl of cheesebread rolls.

"Yes, the alchemists there positively identified her."

"Excellent news. How's Savela managing?"

"Astonishingly well. She surprised me." Revyn grimaced and downed the tankard with speed that made Ambarys's eyebrows climb up. "We actually found an aunt she never knew about that had settled in the area shortly after she'd run away from Honorhall. A Synda Llanthil. She and her husband bought a small farm just outside the city. Her aunt confirm that her sister is somewhere in the area.

"At first they weren't going to acknowledge her but she bullied them into it."

"She bullied someone? Well, well, the little mouse roars. A welcome change to the frightened little girl you first brought in."

"Now that she's caught fire she's going to be a handful." Revyn absentmindedly shredded a roll but didn't eat more than a couple of bites. "The very next thing she did was hire a mercenary to help her invade the Ratway to find her uncle's stolen heirloom bow."

Ambarys coughed, a badly covered laugh. Revyn scowled at his friend. "Oh, you'll meet him soon enough. Savela has him tracking down her mother so we'll soon meet both of them."

"Good is he then?"

"What do you think?" Revyn pulled the letter from his belt purse, unfolded it, and tossed the first two pages across the table. Ambarys smoothed out the vellum sheets, which looked to have been crumpled in anger or frustration a number of times.

 _Dearest Revyn. I wish I could've stayed to introduce him to you but you know the rules here. We're also running late for meeting with a Vigilant of Stendar at some crypt. I also didn't know he was going to just show up in Riften. Typical of my family._

 _Meet my brother, Taliesin. Mother says he takes after our father. I really don't know because he was always away at school and his visits home were erratic and too brief for me to really get to know him. Good memories though, but being 30 years older than me our relations were pretty superficial._

 _I do know Taliesin's a master in both conjuration and illusion. I've asked him to teach you. I hope you take advantage of that although I know you're as interested and fond of magic as I am of balance sheets and exchange rates._

 _Please, please, please consider taking more lessons. With you traveling more about and starting up more projects I worry you're making yourself a target. Despite your mother-henning I did manage to get some talk time with Aadolf at Raldbthar and I am not happy. I thought it was my job to be the trouble-maker. We are going to be talking about this, sweetheart._

"She's got a point there. You do seem to be irritating the stormcloaks more than is healthy."

"Says he who constantly lodges complaints about conditions in the Quarter."

 _Taliesin can show you some shortcut tricks tailored to your style and reactions. He's also studied in Morrowind and is familiar with ancestral spirit based magic which I think you instinctively rely on seeing as how your mother and grandmother came from wisewomen lines._

"Wisewomen? Really? What kind of magic?"

"So I can do a few tricks. For Azura's sake, I spent over two decades in Winterhold and never once did I get the urge to apply at the College. So once or twice I've called upon Ancestor's Wrath like I did at my wedding. That's all. It hardly qualifies me as a mage."

Ambarys stared at him thoughtfully. "Actually, in my experience, not many are able to tap that ability without some form of training. Most untrained, like me, I've touched it three times in my past but only ever in the heat of battle and state of utter desperation."

"Oh?"

"Oblivion Gates, remember? It was the equivalent of throwing dirt in a daedra's eyes and running away."

 _I'll try and finish this search-and-secure job for the Dawnguard as soon as I can. Taliesin says he's an advance scout for our parents. They have to be careful, and daddy's health is a concern. He's 75 after all and it's a long way to Windhelm._

 _Constantly thinking..._

Ambarys returned the pages. "It's about time her family acknowledged you. So. Her older brother. Does he look anything like Helsette?"

"Superficially, no. He's shorter, stocky, light-skinned, curly haired. But the way he grins when he's making a fool of you and the way he sings, then their inherent similarities begin to show." Revyn's gaze became distant and he began nibbling absent-mindedly at a new cheesebread roll. "They didn't grow up together as siblings so it must be something they each learned from their parents. I wonder... Hm. It will be interesting to get to know him. Maybe worth putting up with magic lessons. Perhaps toss him to Elani. See if he survives her..."

"He's done something to piss you off then." Ambarys quipped.

Revyn mumbled something.

"Come on, Revyn, tell your old friend Ambarys, or do I need to pour another tankard into you?"

"No need." Revyn sighed and ran his fingers through this hair, forcing himself to relax. "He rescued me from Maven Black-Briar and he's an enjoyable conversationalist. He's also musical and as inventive as Helsette when it comes to verse. He abetted Savela's foolhardy mission to follow thieves into the Ratway to steal back her uncle's heirloom bow.

"And I couldn't even be mad at him for that because he hexed me. Illusions Master. It was only when I was half-asleep from his spell that he told me that he was Helsette's brother and he gave me her letter. Wanted to look me over first he said. I don't believe he yet fully approves of me, but..."

"But he's willing to learn more. Good enough," Ambarys said, slapping the table for emphasis. "You've got a toehold. Take it for what it is."

"I intend to, Ambarys.

"Now, what gossip have I missed?" he asked. "Preferably anything not involving accursed Riften."

Ambarys grinned in a way that made Revyn uneasy. "Oh, it's a good one. The guards are all twittering about at that Dunmer Whiterun Guard, Selrun Mor. He's the father of the fair Adassa Velot you were tutoring in Skyrim's financial laws."

"Oh, no. What's he done now?"

"'What's he done now?'" Ambarys repeated with interest. "So he's got trouble besides the Dark Brotherhood?"

Revyn blinked, stunned. "I... Maybe. Why don't you tell me about the Dark Brotherhood first."

Ambarys shrugged. "Well, it starts with he went missing from Whiterun. No word. Just didn't show up for work. After three days he turns up in Dragon Bridge and walks into the Penitus Oculatus outpost, right up to the commander there and drops the head of a woman he claims is the leader of the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim. Additionally, he'd dragged in three other victims the Dark Brotherhood claimed there were contracts on. Turned out one was a deserter wanted for killing civilians, claiming heat-of-battle madness. He was arrested for later trial and execution. One a notorious criminal wanted for kidnap, extortion, rape, and other stuff. Same deal as the deserter, trial and execution. And one a very angry, nasty old biddy. Returned to her unfortunate children who would've had better luck at the new Honorhall."

He paused as Revyn made an odd sound and a faint, slightly odd laugh. But as Revyn didn't elaborate, he went on.

"The Penitus Oculatus offered him an insane contract to kill the rest of the Dark Brotherhood. They'd found the Brotherhood's bolt hole in Falkreath. Figures it would be near the biggest graveyard in Skyrim. Quite convenient, right? Turns out Falkreath had been Selrun's hunting grounds before joining Whiterun. He took the contract and another three days later the Emperor's fancy bodyguards followed the smoke and found the sanctuary burning. He'd dragged out from the sanctuary a stone coffin, burned out the body in there, and stacked the heads of all the assassins in it.

"And for it, he got 3000 gold and his name sent to the Emperor. The commander also personally escorted him back to Whiterun to let the Jarl know what his missing guard had been up to. Jarl Balgruuf gave him an additional 100 for each assassin for the honor he brought to Whiterun."

"What in Oblivion is he doing hunting assassins?" Revyn wondered aloud, not really expecting and answer. _Well, intentional or not, he's just knocked one fang from the Black-Briar. Perhaps I could get him to investigate the Dawnstar door my wife found if he has the passkey? Or have him share the passkey with her. I know she'll want to investigate._

"And there's more. Comes to light he was an ordinator before coming to Skyrim. The guards have been asking about ordinators, making the Indorils we've got nervous. And with Whiterun suddenly looking Dunmer-friendly, the ones with families are making ready to move out. Malthyr and Elani can tell you how many have come to your shop looking for supplies or to sell things and to get some information from you about Whiterun. All within the few days you were gone in Riften.

"Oh, and catch Free-Winter when you can. He's stopped by to say that your name's been coming up in court in a rumor that you're recruiting Dunmer for Balgruuf's guards. Someone's seen you hanging about Dragonsreach."

"Oh." Revyn palmed his eyes, searching intently for the calm center of the ethereal, shimmering, tangled web in the darkness behind his eyes. The web faded and he dropped his hands in defeat. With his eyes still closed he said, "I think I'll have another drink now, please."

+—+—+—+—+

Ten in regular bonemold armor and two in Gah-Julan style with silks such as nobility would wear. They were also the only two armed with chitin spears. The dozen armored riders were stopped at the foot of the bridge.

One rider dismounted and tossed the reigns to one of his followers. He removed his helmet and walked to where Revyn waited. His eyes noted the four guards blocking the bridge, lingered thoughtfully over the flanking gate houses as if seeing the waiting, watching guards hiding within.

"Nisil Feren from Blacklight. Revyn Sadri I presume."

"Yes, indeed. Welcome to Skyrim."

"Apologies for our lateness. Some trouble with bandits on the Morrowind side and the guards of the villages needed our help with armor and weapons. But you did get our message, yes?"

"Yes. And he returned to you with mine?"

"Unfortunately, no. He must have run into the bandits we were driving out just as he was returning. Is there something that will prevent us from traveling?"

"Oh, no, no. I was merely suggesting that you bypass Windhelm and go directly Kynesgrove. Um, there is a civil war going on, you know, and lately people hereabouts are more ill-tempered than usual towards outlanders."

Feren's lips quirked up in a wry smile that matched Revyn's. "All right. We can go a few more hours to Kynesgrove. Will you be coming with us or later?"

"I will be right behind you. My dear friend, Elani, is already there to help you settle in. The rooms have already been paid for and basic supplies as well. I am also awaiting the carriage from Whiterun. Ulfberth War-Bear, your host in Whiterun, is on it. Once he's here we'll head right out to Kynesgrove."

Feren returned to his group. After a few moments of talking, he remounted. The two Gah-Julan noble warriors dismounted and brought their horses to the stable while the others rode off. After seeing their horses settled, they picked up their gear and walked up to Revyn who had watched them with a puzzled frown.

The two removed their helms. Two womer, one young, the other older, around his own age. "I am Melynis Selvaai," the younger one announced. "My cousin, Lady Karis Selvaai." The older one nodded stiffly. "I do hope we can count on your assistance in settling in Windhelm, but we will understand if you do not; we come uninvited and without warning. However, I refuse to wait passively in Morrowind while my intended wanders about this frozen land trailing after your wife."

Revyn's eyes crossed slightly as he processed this. Then his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he shuddered briefly. That done, training took over and he smiled, relaxed into an open, friendly stance, and said smoothly, "I absolutely won't hear of you staying anywhere else but with me. I have room above my shop where you may stay as long as you need to."

"How generous, sera. We certainly appre—" Melynis stopped speaking and Revyn sighed in resigned anticipation.

Thane Icewind smirked at him. "You do have a talent, Revyn, for stocking up on lovely women for your shop."

"Excuse me, muthseras."

Revyn turned to Icewind and suddenly slammed both palms against the man's chest. Icewind staggered back a couple of steps in surprise then snapped into a guarded stance. Revyn followed. "Enough, my lord," he hissed, eyes fiery. "I've done as you ordered and sent my visitors away at the end of a long, dangerous journey because you didn't want a group of armored Dunmer in the city.

"These noble ladies, however, will be guests in my home. They are not refugees. Show them courtesy or fry like those bandits at Raldbthar."

Icewind slowly smiled. The pleased expression of one who had finally found a chink in a foe's defenses. "You're right, shopkeeper, I do owe you and I pay my debts like a true Nord." He bumped Revyn aside to advance on the ladies and make a shallow bow. "Since Master Revyn is obliged to wait out here for his guest from Whiterun, allow me to escort you into the city and bring you to a warmer, more comfortable place until he is ready to show you to your new home. I am Jerk Icewind, Thane of Windhelm, a title I earned on the battlefield in service to the Jarl of this Hold."

The Selvaai ladies glanced to Revyn who nodded and smiled with what he hoped was convincing reassurance. He and Icewind hadn't been discreet and the ladies had clearly heard their exchange.

On the other hand, the ladies had clearly heard their exchange. They didn't feel like the type to be easily cozened.

And now he had several guards witness him threatening a noble with physical harm.

The carriage from Whiterun could be seen in the distance.

+—+—+—+—+

War-Bear was a blessing. Once Revyn had explained the situation the Nord had put aside his normal reserve and his other name could've been "Hrothmund Wolf-Heart" who wrote that _Nords of Skyrim_ book promoting Skyrim culture and hospitality. Once Revyn had made introductions and again apologized for the inconvenience, he gladly stepped aside and let War-Bear take over.

The Nord was aptly named — heavy framed, thick muscles, shaggy flack hair, and deep chested, growly voice. His choice of armor was simple iron and leather, but well made and custom fitted. The massive two headed steel axe was not Skyforge, but the best his wife could make for him and the skill and elegance in the simple lines was admired by the Dunmer masters. His speech was laconic, but boasting about his wife's skill at the forge was when War-Bear became truly eloquent. Otherwise, with well-timed good-humored grunts and gestures he managed to convey a sharp understanding and wit.

With many apologies and promises to return the next day, Revyn excused himself and hurried back to Windhelm. He arrived past midnight to find waiting for him outside his shop was one of Icewind's servants. Icewind had actually roomed the ladies in Hjerim Hall and had sent servants to fetch Dunmer style food from the Cornerclub. Revyn could send word or come himself to Hjerim the next day after he'd prepared the ladies' rooms and Icewind would escort them over.

+—+—+—+—+

"He was actually quite polite. Very curious about House Redoran history and values. He was concerned that we would find the present population of Dunmer, being of House Hlaalu, would not suit us," said Melynis.

The Redorans had settled into the spare bedrooms above the shop and they were now in the Cornerclub for dinner. They had set aside their armor for simple, elegant robes of heavy silk and fine wool. Warriors, nevertheless, they also wore short vests of tough leather, had kept on their long-armed left hand gauntlets of bonemold scales over leather, and weapon belts from which hung a buckler and weapons; Melynis favored a dagger and Lady Karis, a small axe.

The Selvaai had been a small but respectable house and, like the majority of the oldest Redoran lines, had lost home, land, and wealth in the destruction of Ald'ruhn. Lady Karis and her brother had not been there like the majority of Redoran forces because they were all out answering the call of the Redoran Councilor in Mournhold who had taken control as the Tribunal fell, the Oblivion Gates were opening, the Imperial forces were abandoning Morrowind to save Cyrodiil, and all Redorans and any who had private armies were battling Molag Bal's daedric armies. And when the Gates had finally closed then came invading forces from Skyrim and Black Marsh. The Nords they managed to push out as it was not led by any particular Jarl or organized agency. The Argonians, however, took the greater toll and much of southern Morrowind was lost.

Melynis had been born to the surviving Salvaai House troop that had settled in areas north of ruined Vivec City where they continued to uphold law.

Ralis came from another such family stationed in Mournhold. The survivors separated from formal Redoran service, moved back to the Northern Ashlands, and become more of a professional mercenary troop. Ralis had been part of contract escorting a Sadras merchant train through territories Melynis guarded. They'd met. Things went on from there. Then he'd taken on a treasure-hunt contract in order to get enough money to continue his courtship plans.

Melynis, tongue-in-cheek, had gifted him with Hoarfrost, a frost enchanted pickaxe as encouragement and to give him a way to cool water as he dug through hot ash and sand.

They hadn't heard anything further until letters of inquiry from Solstheim, from Councilor Morvayn, began circulating, asking about the reputation and service record of Ralis Sedarys. Then the rumors about murders and an undead sorcerer. Then strange tales of an unlikely Hlaalu hero that had saved the councilor from a nefarious plot by her own disgraced House and Morag Tong assassins. Then strangest of all, Councilor Morvayn sponsoring a descendent of Hlaalu Helseth to be allowed to join House Redoran; the same Hlaalu hero who had already been declared by Mage-Lord Telvanni Neloth as his House's newest member.

And Melynis's Ralis was in the thick of things. Of course they had to investigate. Once they got indefinite leave from their duties they went to Blacklight where Lady Karis had arranged to meet a friend who had been one of the investigators sent to Solstheim to look into the murders. From there they were led to Masters Feren and Galam who had filed a tour plan of Skyrim.

And so they landed here on Sadri's doorstep. Neither families of Sedarys or Selvaai had the coin to buy off Ralis's debt even if they were inclined to. Neither was Melynis here to mitigate her intended's burden of service and honorable discharge of debt. She was here to assist Sadri in supporting their wandering mates.

Sadri had Councilor Morvayn to thank for suggesting that course of action to Melynis.

"I hate to say it, but Thane Icewind does have a point. Not that there aren't other Houses here, but most are Hlaalu," said Revyn.

"Of course," Lady Karis said briskly. "But Red Mountain, Dagoth, and Sheogorath shat on everyone. The House of Troubles leads Morrowind. Hlaalu, at least, are predictable."

"There's a rumor from the Telvanni, of all people," said Melynis with a little laugh, "they say your house on Solstheim is full of favors from the Daedra Princes. That you use Malacath's Hammer to pound flour, Azura's Star as a paperweight for pressing flowers, and the shattered pieces of Mehrune's Razor are embedded above the mantle of your cooking hearth as decoration." The womer laughed at the silliness and Revyn laughed lightly along with them.

"What is the situation with Icewind?" asked Karis. "He was quite courteous despite your conflict with each other."

"My wife and I saved his life a short time ago. I'll wager only you two will he ever treat with courtesy because I demanded it. That's his payback. Easily given because then he owes me nothing else. He doesn't like Dunmer. Lost family to necromantic renegades.

"Like many who follow Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, he has grown wary and intolerant of outlanders. Especially mer whether native born or not. The Stormcloak, well..." Revyn sighed. "It's an ugly story for later."

"Ho, Master Revyn!"

Revyn cringed. The ladies noticed that and looked with interest to the plump Dunmer pushing through the evening crowd towards them. Revyn heaved himself to his feet and turned to face Taliesin. "Master Taliesin, welcome to Windhelm," he said unenthusiastically.

The mer dared twinkle at him. "And a miserable, cold, ice nugget hanging off the backside of High Hrothgar it is too," he said cheerily. He beamed at the ladies and glanced expectantly at Revyn.

"Master Taliesin, Melynis Selvaai and Lady Karis Selvaai. Miss Melynis is pledged to Ralis Sedarys. Lady Karis is here in support of her cousin. Ladies, my brother-in-law, Taliesin Faro."

"House Selvaai," Taliesin acknowledged with a little bow. "I've had the pleasure of raiding a slaver den with a five-man group led by Mithral Selvaai."

"I know that mission. Are you the insane Telvanni mage his reports mentioned? But you're not Telvanni," said Lady Karis.

"Well, I was wearing borrowed robes so the mistake is understandable. The slavers were expecting a Telvanni buyer and I'd killed the fool and took his identity to get through the contacts to find the place.

"Join us why don't you." Revyn caught Malthyr's eye and signaled for another drink and a chair.

"Gladly. Oh, and I suppose you're wondering about the Nethris. Yes, I found her. She and Savela are getting to know each other under Elani's care. They'll all be by tomorrow."

Revyn quickly explained the Nethri situation to the Selvaai ladies.

"You found her so quickly," Revyn said.

"Ah, I can't really claim any credit there. Day after you'd left, she came wandering back to her sister's farm to pick up the fox leaf rot. After the Lanthils were done yelling at her, I had her show me which group of necros she'd been hanging with. A truly idiotic group lead by a stupid witch wanting revenge for her dead soldier husband. Raising an army of draugr in revenge. What nonsense! I'll trot back down there in a couple days and alert the Riften priests to be ready to relay the restless dead after I'm done burning out that nest, that is, if they want my help and are willing to lay out some coin for it. Or they can send a troop of outraged stormcloaks in to avenge their ancestors. Their choice." He shrugged.

"Or," he smiled slyly at Revyn, "you and me could go back there and we can see if my sister is right about your magic."

"I am a shopkeeper, not a spellsword," Revyn asserted stiffly. "I can call fire enough to heat a pot of tea and I can summon a fire wolf familiar, and that latter spell only because my wife made me learn it."

"Uh-huh." Malthyr brought a large sectioned platter with bread, meats, vegetables, and sauces. Taliesin reach to a roast goat leg and began slicing cuts with a simple squirrel-tail steel knife. "Well, we can talk about that later."

Talk turned to general topics like local politics, what Revyn knew about Raven Rock and the Kolbjorn fiasco, and some of the adventures Helsette and Ralis had been having. The Selvaai were very sharp and clearly had a lot more questions. Taliesin was charming, talkative, and maddeningly elusive.

Revyn had a massive headache. He figured he could hold off talking about double lives until Helsette and Ralis returned from their latest Dawnguard job. Soon, he hoped.


	19. Waiting Door

_Note: 2nd song is a slightly reworded version of "March of Cambreadth" by Heather Alexander._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

WAITING DOOR

 _By my faith, by my love, by my hope, I am recalled  
From the moon shadowed realm of dusk and dawn, I am reborn_

The Cornerclub was over capacity with Dunmer and Nord crowding in to listen to the bards. It helped that it was a mild Spring night, meaning no rain and temperature was tolerably cool for Dunmer and warm for Nords, so the door was propped open for the people in the street to listen.

 _I once made a promise and I now must fulfill  
Morrowind_

Taliesin's hu'uchir was the distant, sky-arching call of a silt strider, the soft wail of a restless child. The short, round, deceptively soft-looking mage had the long sleeves of his robe pinned back so that they would not interfere with his bowing, the revealed forearms were muscular with little fat. A puzzling contrast to his soft features and soft, curling hair.

 _Morrowind, Morrowind, wipe the ash from your eyes  
There is hope in the storm, trust Azura's will  
Blind ambition and greed and great pride struck me down  
I am reborn_

Helsette was tallest of the trio and tonight she wore a simple, long dress that hid lean muscles of a warrior adept with both bow and sword and shield. Her long hair was allowed to hang loose and had been brushed and oiled until it shown like lustrous black silk. She played no instrument but instead gracefully swayed and her arms and hands danced in the air, evoking, coaxing, shaping intangible emotions.

 _Oh, know faith and know love and know hope, Morrowind  
And know honor and know strength to stand once again_

The third singer, playing a reinforced hoop and leather drum, had walked into Sadri's shop two days ago with a huge bundle of silver swords to sell; a 19-your-old Imperial with lips stretched in a wolfish grin. His proudly worn amulet marked him as a Companion. "Hail, cousin!" had been his greeting. His name, "Little Nicky" Faro Faustus. Two other Companions, Circle Companion/Trainer, Farkas and fellow trainee, Athis, shared a table with Revyn and the Selvaai ladies. Cousin Nicky spoke fluent Dunmeris with a strong Cheydinhal accent.

Cousin Nicky shared Taliesin's short, powerful build and had the same almost baby-faced features and his sun-streaked brown hair curled in like fashion. Helsette's eyes flashed and her gestures snapped and commanded.

 _Though the Mountain may shake, from the ash we arise  
Morrowind, Morrowind_

Abrupt mood change. The hu'uchir's voice became a cliff-racer's shriek. The relaxed heartbeat quickened to fierce drumming.

 _Swords a-clash, spears a-swing, shining armor, arrows sing  
Rushing forth with polished shields; Neither side a quarter yields  
Banners high, Ancestral home, fight to keep this land our own_

Ambarys hastily took jugs and tankards and bottles off the wall shelves as the audience roared the chorus, pounding on tables and walls and stomping their feet to the war drum's beat, shaking the building and sending tremors along the surrounding street.

 _Heed the call, sound the cry: How many of them can we make die?_

The coin made tonight would equal a year's profits, but Ambarys wasn't smiling with this song. His expression was tight and grim. A few faces in the crowd reflected the same. Revyn recognized the Dunmer veterans of the Oblivion gate battles; the Nords, the Great War.

 _Close your mind to stress and pain; fight 'til you're no longer sane  
Heed the call, sound the cry; How many of them can we make die?_

 _How many...  
How many?  
How many...  
Can  
We  
Make  
Die_

For a moment the Nords seemed to forget the singers were Dunmer and Imperial. The singers didn't and their eyes burned with a peculiar madness all their own. Revyn shuddered from a spiritual chill and he swore he could hear a mad daedra merrily whistling the tune and an ancestral one laughing blooded approval.

Cousin Nicky took the lead and changed the mood to a mischievous Hircine-inspired ditty about clueless hunters and a great white stag. The Ring of Hircine flashed on his hand. Arrogant cub. The Companions hadn't tried to turn him yet.

They were in for an unpleasant surprise if they thought him ignorant of their secret.

The rumors had finally reached the Dunmer of Windhelm that Helsette's family was a bastard line of Hlaalu Helseth; a rumor long known to the Hlaalu of Cheydinhal and confirmed by the Redorans. Morvayn and Arano swore they hadn't talked, but Arano's investigations had been picked up and spread by other Redorans in Blacklight.

Sadri's shop now also hung the banner of House Redoran along with Hlaalu and Telvanni.

So tonight all three (yes, even the Imperial) wore two badges; the scales of House Hlaalu and the wolf's head that was the personal sigil of King Helseth.

Requests for "Age of Oppression" and "The Dragonborn Comes" were turned down.

 _The maid, the maid, a lusty kind of maid  
Bright of eye and scale and tail aloft so proudly there displayed  
Come here, come here! Come, sweeting, dumpling dear  
Come bring the oil and cleaning cloth; there's wood to polish here_

Who in Oblivion improvises a musical version of _The Lusty Argonian Maid_?

+—+—+—+—+

His wife and his in-laws and Ralis and his ladies were all out a Refugee's Rest capturing and caging Frost Trolls for the Dawnguard. That wouldn't take long. Then they'd spend the rest of the day discussing plans for the abandoned ruin that was still technically Dunmer territory, and then after that visiting with the Dunmer smiths in Kynesgrove who were still acclimatizing to the weather and food.

That left Revyn with some quiet time with Selveni Nethri. He left the shop in Savela's care and he and Selveni took a carriage ride to Riften where they intended to deliver some supplies and gifts to the family there, stay the night, and then head back.

He had Selveni repeat her story to him. And then he told her his perspective of the caught-a-thief-made-her-my-apprentice story Savela had told to her mother. As they were Alfarinn's only passengers on this run to Riften and Alfarinn had been well-paid to be deaf, they spoke freely. There was always something about changing scenery, perhaps an unconscious sensation of temporarily outrunning a problem or a social trapping, that enabled confidences.

No worries about bandits or wild animals with them being the only passengers and the cart piled with deliveries to Riften. Ralis had a couple of atronach staffs and Selveni had access to her magic again, courtesy of Taliesin who had removed the mental block in her mind that "a curse" had set. Really, said Taliesin, it was a pretty basic inhibition spell used in schools on students who refused to act, or were incapable of acting, responsibly with their magic.

Of course, the one who had set the spell had added some vicious twists that preyed upon other scars set even earlier in her life — substance addictions, automatic responses trained into her by a previous owner. Some of it Taliesin could ease or even block, but only after she had some counseling and awareness of what had been done to her and a plan for healing.

The counseling and planning he had casually dumped in Revyn's lap. Honestly. Where was he getting the idea that Revyn was a trained temple healer? Did he think that because Revyn was older that he had all the answers?

Solving Selveni's past and current mental health issues was not his responsibility. His apprentice was his concern so he focused on that.

Which led to him holding Selveni comfortingly as she cried against him. Talking about her daughter's skills training and future had brought out the memories of her own past and the parents she had desperately missed. It was no stretch of imagination that her training in alchemy had gone the route of being forced to self-experiment which led to using.

She didn't know how she was going to manage her addictions on her own. She'd become dependent on others to regulate her access to certain substances, to keep her sane. She'd focused on finding her daughter as an anchor point to her sanity, but now her daughter was found and she was safe, happy, and with people who giving her a future her mother couldn't if she was being realistic about it.

And she was being realistic about it. She couldn't stay and risk dragging Savela down with her. Embarrassing her should her mother's past come to light. She should just crawl off and let Sheogorath have what's left of her.

She cried herself to sleep. Revyn continued to hold her, feeling that she needed the contact. When she seemed to stir from bad dreams, he softly sang lullabies in Dunmeris.

Taliesin said one of the mental hooks used against her was her fear of being lost to all she had known; of wanting a parent that she believed was still out there who now could never find her. That was the anchor point she'd used and by empathy had thrown the other end to Savela, forcing herself onward to the belief that she had to find the daughter who was going through the same thing she did when she was younger.

But now her daughter was found and she was safe...

The hook had torn free, leaving an ugly, horrendous tear in her spirit. There was nothing to pull herself along by. The pain was no long a goad. It was just pain.

Where was the balance? He held her, sang to her, and meditated on the question. A bear came too close to the carriage and he absent-mindedly chased it off with conjured fire wolves. He fingered his ancestral necklace, praying and inviting their inspiration.

His logic said Winterhold. There had been a lot of changes dictated to the Restorations school. Subdepartments were being set up for the Alchemic Arts and, shockingly, Necromantic studies. Yet another, still being negotiated, a cooperative between Illusions and Restoration. Curses and spell-induced mental sickness was the initial focus. Selveni had something to contribute to each area whether as a knowledge source or as a study subject.

But his instincts said her soul needed anchoring first. She needed her family. All he could think of was back to the Ashlands, back to Velothi, back to the wanderings. She needed to reclaim her father's body from its lonely grave somewhere in Dawnstar; a priest or priestess of the old ways to perform the proper ceremonies.

If he remembered correctly, Priestess Aranea Ienith was currently at loose ends. She still tended the Shrine of Azura in Winterhold, and had been joined by two or three others who had wandered back. If she agreed, she could accompany Selveni on her quest and be the spiritual guide and counselor on the journey.

Guide, Quester, now what was needed was a Guardian or Caretaker. The Quester had to be protected from outside interference and from most of the distractions that came with travel. The Third party member would take care of the mundane details of food, shelter, dealing with people, all that. He could think of two or three female warriors in the Gray Quarter who could be hired to fulfill that role.

He also had a feeling that Synda could join her sister on the return route over the Velothi Mountains to guide her sister to where their mother was interred. It would be a good bonding for them. If she agreed, her husband would need help with the farm and Revyn could temporarily release Savela from her apprenticeship contract to work with him.

When the carriage stopped for a while to let the horses rest, Alfarinn helped Revyn move some packages about so that Selveni had a bit more room on the carriage floor and where Revyn sat too so that he could still cradle her head on his lap. He kept one hand cushioning under her head, feeling that physical contact was still important. He set a box at his right side with paper, quill, and ink. He wanted to send these letters out as soon as they got to Riften.

+—+—+—+—+

Dunmer had invaded War-Anvil's forge. Turik Galam, bladesmith master, had two apprentices melting down the solid silver longswords Cousin Nicky had flooded Revyn's stock with. The better technique used in Morrowind was either to inlay the silver to steel or to forge three plates, the outer two silver and the inner of steel, into a blade. The other two apprentices he lectured on the importance of laying in magic as they were hammering the weapons into the forms favored in Morrowind.

And not just longswords. That made no sense to limit fighters to only one style of weapon.

Armorer master Nisil Feren fielded questions from the audience about battling daedra and hostile ancestral spirits and undead; the development of silver as the solution for warriors who did not have or did not know magic; about what types of enchantments silver could help to counter. Helsette supplemented his lecture with tidbits from her own experience in battling draugr, dremora, and vampires.

"You aren't seriously thinking of bringing silvered weapons back to Jorrvaskr, are you?"

Cousin Nicky grinned at Revyn. The cocky cheer that Revyn found so charming in Helsette was faintly terrifying in this young human. "Not right off. But Master Feren wants some time to study Nordic weapons and the Dawnstar weapons. One has better metal and other has the intrinsic anti-vampire protection, and he thinks the Nordic style lends itself artistically better to silver inlays. He thinks he should have something to try once he gets to Whiterun."

"Very nice. But what I mean is—"

"Oh, I know what you mean." Nicky interrupted, shrugging. "I recognized the signs right away. Smelled it too. Stinky wet dogs."

"Ah."

"There's a division there. Two are dedicated, the rest are tired or ambivalent. The leader is actively searching for a way out. But I take it Daedra Princes don't let go of their worshippers easily."

"Ah, no. They can be quite vindictive."

"Any advice?"

"Not really. Just realize they are by nature hostile and it is never wise to let them out of your sight. It does tend to make a paranoid culture. Witness the Dunmer. Everything's a test. Everything's against you." Revyn grinned. "But I will say, the reasonable Princes are the ones that know to ease up on the leash and offer rewards if you prove yourself against their tests. Doesn't mean you can relax though."

Nicky snorted. "No kidding. I've seen the inner circle. They never sleep. They're like dogs that never get enough to eat. Farkas is the mildest one there. A couple of other senior irritate the piss out of me and I find their attitude insulting."

"Not Daedra influence there," said Revyn. "Sounds to me like a personal trait problem. The nature of the beast enhances what's already there. Certain virtues or flaws will be exaggerated."

"I'm hungry," Nicky announced. "Cornerclub?"

"I suppose a drink wouldn't hurt. It's only been two hours since breakfast. But I forget the appetites of young children."

"So much to do; gotta keep the belly full and fire burning," Nicky agreed, nodding.

"So tell me, why did you join the Companions? Was that why you came to Skyrim?"

Nicky snorted and laughed, shaking his head. "'Course not! Came after you, old man," he said ominously. "We got your letters but none of us are very good with personal correspondence. We got enough spies peaking at our business correspondence. Dominion naturally wants to keep tabs on General Faro. They keep trying to find ways to control her so it's come that we don't dare write each other letters other than formal invitations to political events. Anything we have to say or plan has to be done face to face.

"But your letters, oh, man. You are so lucky you're in Windhelm."

"As I was saying, you worship Daedra, you learn to watch your back," Revyn said, sighing.

"Uh-huh. Well, aunt and uncle were already pretty upset that Helsi went and ran off to go on adventures without telling them. Sure she was 16, which is ok, I guess, for humans. But the whole mer community was upset. Starts that old, 'look what happens when you marry a human' arguments. Children thinking they're older than they really are and humans encouraging it because they're all short-lived s'wits who can't help that their sex outpaces their brains.

"Papa had to explain to me that it was like an 8-year-old human girl running off on her own. Sure, Cousin Helsi was wicked smart and better than anybody in her age group when it came to weapons, but mer don't really think anyone under 25 is ready for adult responsibilities. Humans, ok, 'cuz of our shorter lives. Like dogs are breedable after a year or so on account most don't live past 10." Nicky's matter-of-fact expression had Revyn chuckling.

"Imagine how much screaming there was when some 200-year-old lech writes in to tell us he's already married our sweet little baby girl."

The young man affected not to notice the way Revyn shrunk in on himself. The older Dunmer remembered quite well his fears when he was penning the letter.

"Aunt Inanna was all for a quick flambe while Uncle Tony wanted to string you up for selective cutting. Even my parents weren't happy. A, what, 50, 60-year-old marrying a child of 10? I mean, when I really thought about it — and I was only 16 then — I was ready to come up here and kick your ass all the way to Red Mountain. And Cousin Tallen, oh, man, you were lucky he was on assignment on the other side of Elsewyr playing surf-and-turf games with the sea elves.

"But a couple of years ago I actually did take off from home to come after you. I stopped in Falkreath first. Ran into Ysolda's caravan and got to talking with them. I was curious how a Nord came to be leading a bunch of Hlaalu and Ashlander caravaneers. Your name came up. Ysolda thinks you can schedule the moons by the way.

"Went to Whiterun to check out the other people she'd said you'd been doing business with. Naturally, I heard the whole Dragonborn thing. Certain, um, things clued me that there was something going on. Her name, really. Antonia Felix from Cyrodiil? C'mon

"Checked out Breezehome, talked to Seras Lydia and Adassa. Tried to be discreet, but I'm no good at those games. Sera Adassa set her dad on me. A scary, scary man.

"Long story, short — he said I wasn't smart enough or good enough as a fighter to be the exalted Dragonborn's cousin and that his daughter didn't need me distracting her from her duties. Said she had enough on her hands and shouldn't have to babysit the Dragonborn's inept cousin. Said my cousin was playing deep games and you were the only one keeping her safe. So he hauled me to Jorrvaskr and went and talked to the Harbinger."

"Why the Companions? What—"

"Oh, he saw my ring and had me explain the run-in I had with that Prince when I was trying to help solve a murder mystery. He gave me a choice to either join the Companions, change my name and claim kinship to a certain Dunmer adventurer out of Windhelm, or he'd bury me in the dungeons until the Jarl could arrange to have me escorted under guard back to Cheydinhal.

"Guess which I agreed to?"

"When was all this?" Revyn paid for a bottle of sujamma for himself and a mead and meal for Nicky. As he poured the sujamma into a tankard he idly reflected that his drinking may be getting a bit out of hand.

"About a year ago. You were in Solstheim I think. Serjo Selrun was rather happy about it. I get that he respects you, but he just doesn't like you very much. I get he didn't tell you about me."

"You get right." Revyn snagged an ash hopper leg off Nicky's plate, feeling he needed something to buffer the sujamma flooding his system. "Other than the attitudes of certain senior Companions, are you satisfied with your time there?"

"Oh, yeah. Learning lots about Nord and Skyrim politics. The Companions do so much political dancing around to maintain their neutrality, you know. Getting a good understanding why all the masquerades and maneuvering. Serjo Selrun was right that I didn't know what I was charging into like a kagouti in a pottery barn. The Companions is a good place to hide out while studying both sides of the dispute."

"I see. Now, the silver weapons, the Silver Hands, they're a particularly vicious group for a trainee to take on," Revyn said. "Why would the Companions assign them to you?"

"Oh, they didn't. I was given a job to kill a bear that had invaded a mine. Did the job, did a little exploring and stumbled on their camp. I met up with Farkas and Athis who had just finished up a kidnap rescue job and Farkas decided we needed to investigate. Get some info and numbers. Well, we got spotted and had to fight.

"I figured this was the perfect opportunity and excuse to finally look you up. Those swords were heavy and not worth hauling all the way back to Whiterun. Took me a bit to convince Athis to come along, Farkas had no problems once I told him I wanted to visit my cousins, so we came here."

"Oh, and in case you're wondering, papa's come north too. His own name. Nicholas Felix. His buddy, Razelan, invited him to try some new find in Solstheim that he think's papa's business should invest in. He's a wine merchant. He and grandad are business partners with Uncle Timberwolf, who once did time in Morrowind as The Nerevarine."

Revyn finished the bottle of sujamma. "Mephala hates me," he muttered.

"Hey, so is this Geldis Sadri on Solstheim — a relative of ours?"

"Cousin on my father's side."

"Hey..."

"He doesn't know anything. He still believes I'm just a shopkeeper in Windhelm."

Nicky snickered. "Ok, got it. Protected non-player. Papa may stop in Windhelm, but only if he feels it's safe to do so, so don't be offended if he doesn't. Thalmor, you know."

Nicky polished off a second plate then they went to Sadri's.

The Dunmer smiths and their apprentices had been allowed into Windhelm after agreeing to leave their heavy armor and their weapons, save for a sword or knife each, behind in Kynesgrove. Sadri had arranged for a skills demonstration at War-Anvil's forge and a side effect had been put people in a shopping mood, so there were a lot of Nords about even in the Gray Quarter. Savela and War-Bear handled the counter. Master Feren's apprentices, since they weren't needed at the demonstration in the Stone Quarter, were helping by keeping watch for thieves and standing guard at the door.

They found Taliesin down in the cellar meditating before the special, small open room designated as the ancestral shrine or Waiting Door. Nicky solemnly bowed towards the Door. There wasn't much to see in the small closet — a polished stone necklace, a broken spearhead, a carefully coiled silk scarf, a ring, an empty box line in velvet where Revyn often stored his Ancestral necklace — all tokens, remembrances of lost family members that he'd carried with him when he'd fled Morrowind.

"You left a place for our family," said Taliesin.

"Of course." Revyn knelt beside him. "When I married your sister I felt briefly the power of your ancestors in her. Dragonborn she may be, soul of a dragon she may have, but her spirit is Dunmer and her heart yearns for that connection. The dragon would have let me die."

"Hm. Yes. She told me how she finally broke past that barrier. I think she's right about you being, mm, in touch with the old magics. A rare gift. Only Psijic monks actively practice that type of magic."

"You are talking nonsense," Revyn said flatly. "I just believe in the power of the Ancestors and I like to think that they sometimes believe in me enough to help out once in a while."

Taliesin only smiled faintly at that. Now was not the time to argue. Revyn was looking tired and a bit rough from all the "business" he'd been doing recently.

He went back to his meditations. For some reason, the guards hereabout were fond of remarking to him, "Don't think you can barter with me like I'm one of those damned shopkeepers."

Too bad. Some shopkeepers knew how to put together bargains.


	20. Felix Spirituum

_* Live-to-Forgive — Ah, a hard-to-kill-draugr spam bot. May the Holy Trinity of Squash, Beans, and Corn... Oh, sorry... Azura, Mephala, and Boethia light a fire under you.  
* AnotherGuest — You realize that was an invitation for someone to talk.  
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 _Notes: Longer than usual. Certain people just love talking and aren't happy until they've had their say._

 **Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

FELIX SPIRITUUM

"So to sum up, you don't practice magic _per se_. Rather, you rely on prayer and invocation of ancestral spirits to access and shape and direct any power that you use. You believe yourself a channel."

Revyn wilted against the Northern Maiden's rail. He really didn't like talking about magic, but his wife had made him promise to cooperate. There was a darkening in her spirit lately that concerned him. The appearance of her family had brightened it a bit, but it hovered still too near. And if his learning magic eased whatever burden she felt, he would do so.

Taliesin adjusted his dust veil. He and Revyn were sitting in the foredeck. Vvardenfell behind them, the Bulwark looming overhead. The older mer was in netch leather armor and relaxing in the wind and the ash and the way the boat bounced as it hit the tides reflecting off the island. It was also more private here and he felt he needed the distraction as he tried to answer Taliesin's questions.

"Absolutely. And so far the ancestors have been kind. I hate to impose on their kindness. Oh, I learned a little fire magic because it's useful to be able to light campfires and warm food when traveling. And I only learned the fire wolf spell because my wife made it a requirement as part of my first anniversary gift. I'll admit it has come in handy, but all in all I would prefer not have to learn more. I don't know why, but all my gut instincts tell me that pursuing a study in magic is all wrong for me."

"Maybe not the study of magic itself but the methodology and goals is wrong for you," Taliesin said thoughtfully. "Strong secular habits and responses built around a strong, personal religious source. This shaman of the Skaal you mentioned, have you and he ever..."

"An interesting fellow but we were both too occupied with other matters to discuss anything personal. I doubt he has little time even now because of living right on Miraak's doorstep."

"Still, shamanism seems more your style. The Ashlanders, weren't there any men who fulfilled that role?"

"Er, no. The wisewomen were women. That was a woman's role. Men were no more shamans than women were ashkahns. Um, prophets came in both sexes, but I have no inclination to be an oracle, unless we're talking financial speculations."

Taliesin's fingers splayed over his dust veil. "I see," he said, the tone implying he was grinning underneath it all.

"I don't have any great source of power," Revyn insisted wearily. "As I keep telling her, all the magic I know is how to tap into that thing people insist on labeling Ancestors Wrath. It isn't 'wrath' of any sort even if it commonly manifests as an all-consuming burst of fire. The original name for it is 'Sanctuary.' Ancestors Sanctuary as in protection of the family. It is not a power feeding on anger or vengeance. Any Dunmer can find a way to invoke it."

"And the common path is through anger or fear," said Taliesin. "And so the name. I've always thought it apt considering Velothi and his followers sold their souls to the Daedra Princes to make that break from the Aldmer. Anger, pride, and rejection of what was. I'll agree vengeance was not part of the mix, but I'll assert anger was and still is a key factor." He could see Revyn's eyes narrow. But after a considering moment, a slow, reluctant nod conceding the point.

"The necklace you wear, there's quite a bit of power there. A complex sort because it's sentient. It recognizes you and gives you access. It would fight me or anyone else who tries to use it."

"It's made from the bones and ashes of my ancestors, of course it recognizes me. It would also respond to Helsette to a degree simply because we are soul bonded, and most certainly to any child of mine if I am so blessed in the future. Highly unlikely at my age though."

"Mm-hmm. Alright. So tell me about this soul bonding on your wedding day. I've heard several versions of the event from people in Riften, a little bit from Helsette, but I want to hear yours."

+—+—+—+—+

This would be a short trip; they'd leave at the end of the week with the Northern Maiden. Revyn had things to deliver to the Telvanni and he wanted to introduce Taliesin to Savos Aren and others in Raven Rock.

He'd also received word from Dulcea Vindni, the wife of his business manager at Windstad, that her mother had arrived with three surprise Telvanni guests looking to relocate to Skyrim. Savos had met with them and strongly recommended that Revyn meet with them.

Manolas Themvos, the house steward, greeted them at the dock. He hustled them efficiently through the crowded street towards Severin Manor while briskly delivering to Revyn a summary of important activities; people who wanted to speak to him; standing invitations from the Redoran Councilors, the Skaal; and a warning that Synod people had recently come and were attempting their own research into the All-Maker stones and Nord barrows and Dwemer ruins and petitioning for entry into the Manor.

The Synod got only cold courtesy from the Redorans and the Skaal. The Telvanni had forbidden them any welcome in Tel Mithryn. Savos was avoiding them by being at the barrow end of Bloodskaal Towers studying the word wall and Hermaeus Mora's Black Book shrine. He was there with the Imperial scholar Tharstan recording and translating carvings and ancient texts in the tomb.

Severin Manor's reconstruction and expansion plans were on track and comfortably under budget. Kitchen and general household storage shelving on the upper level were in place. The secondary bedroom had all armory and display cases transferred there and a magic insulating vault installed for dangerous items. The main bedroom had been sectioned into three parts for now, largest was a semi-private bedroom and work office, secondary barracks style bedroom, and a workroom that was the staging room for the current excavation to expand the second level for more rooms and the beginnings of a third level for more storage and vaults.

Shortly after settling into his new position, Manolas, an ex-bank clerk as well as an adept-level mage, had inspected the wall safe and discovered the back panel was false; the revealed trigger opened the Ulen's hidden tunnel. The tunnel skimmed over the upper level of the ebony mine then dipped down to a vast, watery underground cavern containing a crumbling Nord ruin underneath the Bulwark and Raven Rock's jail.

He reported this to Captain Veleth and the both of them found the prison escape tunnel, the hidden hatch outside the Bulwark, ash spawn powered by large heartstone deposits and a family of trapped netch (captured and sold to someone wanting to started a domesticated netch herd). Another tunnel to the ruins of Ashfallow Citadel. That explained how easily the Ulens had been able to move their Morag Tong force about. That tunnel was collapsed and Ashfallow reduced to rubble.

And with the Redorans securing the underground areas, they had provided active security and contributed to construction costs which meant Manolas scarcely had to touch the security budget. Crime levels in Raven Rock were quite low considering the growing population. Still, Solstheim was also becoming known as a place to find ancient Nord and Dwemer artifacts; Severin Manor a place holding Daedric treasures. A couple clumsy burgling attempts had been made, the culprits set to community service scrubbing netch scum off the Bulwark.

+—+—+—+—+

Telvanni settlement. A courtesy call on Master Neloth and delivery of an Azra Nightwielder staff with a reward of a paralysis staff of Neloth's making. Neloth took a dislike to Taliesin and wouldn't let him see the staff enchanter. Taliesin only smiled and suggested Revyn and Talvas find something to do outside the tower while he and Neloth talked. He'd find his own way back to Raven Rock later.

That left Revyn spending the morning talking with the four ancient Dunmer; all powerful sorcerers and each easily past the average life span of 300 years.

Dulcea introduced first her mother, Arara Uvulas, Neloth's previous Mouth in Sadrith Mora. Retired now and looking forward to the challenges of living in Skyrim.

The other three had shown on Muthsera Arara's doorstep and had invited themselves to come along. However, settling at Tel Mithryn was not a possibility nor was Raven Rock.

Mage Lord Baladas Demnevanni of Gnisis, reluctant High Councilor of Telvanni who had taken the position at the maneuvering of the Nerevarine. Gnisis was lost and he'd blown his considerable reserve of power battling Oblivion gates and then protecting survivors from the after-effects of Baar Dau until evacuation from Vvardenfell. He wanted to retire back to a life of research into the Dwemer. Solstheim, with its numerous Nord and Dwemer ruins, would have been ideal except for the presence of Neloth.

He detested Neloth and the feeling was mutual. He didn't have the power to kick Neloth out because Neloth still had all his reserves since he skipped out of Vvardenfell well before everything fell apart.

Savos Aren had spent time talking to him about Dwemer research and the possibility of a considerable grant by the College of Winterhold if he would head up their research branch. He liked the idea, but he detested the cold in Winterhold.

Familiar, sharp golden legs peeked out from under the mage's chair and behind his robes. A Dwemer spider. He'd found it in a ruin northeast of here. A lone researcher had sent out letters looking for funding, another reason why Baladas had wanted to come to Solstheim. Unfortunately, this researcher, receiving no response, had risked hiring some mercs who had turned on him once they got his notes. Baladas and Enar Releth, his former Mouth, had taken care of the treacherous thugs. A little exploring and he'd netted this friendly, attentive little automaton. There was more to explore in that ruin but the keys, small crystals he showed Revyn, were scattered about.

"Actually, I have them," Revyn said, startled. "My wife found them and is using them for paper weights."

"I'd heard that was Azura's Star."

The last Telvanni sorcerer was Edd "Fast Eddie" Theman, former Mouth for the Nerevarine. He'd heard the rumors that the Nerevarine was still alive.

It was an interesting morning.

Afterwards, Revyn was delighted to find the experimental guar herd had grown since his last visit so that now he was able to rent a riding guar for his stay in Solstheim. The long, two-legged bounding of the riding lizard over ash and sand resurrected old, old memories and tears fogged his goggles.

He passed Kolbjorn Barrow. The Synod had taken over there, scrabbling for any secrets that may remain. He chatted with the foreman of the workforce, another former Windhelm inhabitant, and fled when a Synod boss came to challenge his presence at the site.

He found himself at a ramshackle shack. A few more minutes he would be at Raven Rock, but a cloud had pulled itself over the island and blocked the moons and it was really too dark to risk riding even such a short distance. The shack was on an incline. There were signs of recent habitation, mainly a lantern with oil and wine bottles with lingering scent of wine soaked into the dry floorboards. The guar was happy enough eating two loaves of bread and a thick cheese wedge. He had a slice of cheese and two apples. He lit a lantern, hoping it wouldn't attract any reavers.

The guar fussed a little and an ebony-armored mer walked into the shack. "Come to trade?"

Oh, this one his wife had mentioned. So this was his trading shack. "A few things," Revyn said, smiling. "Let's see what deals we can make."

+—+—+—+—+

At dawn he said goodbye to Falas and headed towards the Skaal Village. He stopped at the Wind Stone. It had been the third stone she had freed after learning the Bend Will shout. Somewhere nearby he knew was the backdoor to the Temple of Miraak.

He thought he heard his name called. As he turned his foot slipped in the loose sand, causing it to slide between some rocks. The sharp edges rammed his ankle and he stumbled, falling hard, hitting his head.

Steel on rocks. Deep, flat droning. He woke in a dark place that stank of fetid water and damp parchment. The grille underneath didn't feel like any metal, rather like hardened layers of substance spat out by a creatures he didn't want to imagine. Stank of slime and spit.

Dark sky, swirling sheets of paper, twisting nightmare. How was this possible? He should've ended up working on a damn pillar, not in Apocrypha. He had been nowhere near a Black Book.

Calm. Breathe. His wife swore stealth was key. Pools were to be avoided. Watch for black fog, they could quickly manifest into Seekers. There was also the distinctive breathing sound they made. If you couldn't avoid it, focus on killing the original. Kill that one, do not get distracted by the copy.

His only weapon was... Wait, where was his Stahlrim knife with its cold and paralysis enchantments? His Ancestors necklace was missing. No fire wolf answered his conjuration spell. Was he really in Apocrypha?

Ow. That pinch hurt. So did dipping the tip of a pinky finger into a black pool. So did the tip of the tentacle that whipped at him from the pool and scored on his hip as he desperately rolled away from it.

No book. He hadn't entered via book. It took a book to get out. Was there an exit book somewhere? He had to hope so.

Phlegmy breathing almost on top of him. A Seeker manifested. He didn't move, barely breathed. After a moment the hairy, tentacled monster floated off to chase some fluttering page. It was fatiguing and boring, creeping about to avoid the Seekers. Keeping up with the floating lights because the darkness burned. If he died there, he wasn't confident at all that he'd be returned to Solstheim.

The distinct sound of dragons wings overhead. He pressed next to a wall, partially hidden beside a messy stack of rotten books at the edge of a floating light area. He hoped the stupid light thing didn't move off.

Miraak on a dragon. The dragon landed, the platform shaking beneath it. Miraak slid off and paced a few feet away.

"Dragon's mate, shopkeeper, I know you are here. Let us bargain. You cannot leave here without my help." So saying, he made a gesture and the floating lights all went to him. Revyn hissed as darkness wrapped him and started burning from inside out.

Miraak homed in on him and hauled him into the light, easily holding him upright.

"She will return. She has to learn what I learned if she seeks any chance to defeat me. I shall just hold you here and show her the futility of fighting me."

"How did you get me here?" Revyn demanded, struggling weakly to be free. Miraak let him go with an amused grunt and crossed his arms over his chest. Revyn staggered back but managed to shakily keep standing. All his muscles still tingled unpleasantly from the darkness.

"Your soul is bound to a dragon. When you fell, I summoned your soul as I would hers if ever she fell; as I summon and consume the souls of the dragons she slays."

"Are you saying I'm dead?"

"You are here, are you not?

+—+—+—+—+

"Cousin Nicholas Felix was nice to meet. Would have been nice to know he was coming." Geldis thumped the food tray and sujamma jar down. He eyed Taliesin.

"Geldis, this is Taliesin Faro Felix. My wife's older brother. And I am sorry about Nicholas Felix. I had no idea he was our cousin or that he was the expert Razelan was bringing in. I swear. I haven't even met the man yet."

"Please don't blame Revyn. We all jumped on him rather suddenly," said Taliesin. "Pleasure to meet you, Geldis. Cousin Geldis if I may. Cousin Nicky is really impressed."

"His initial order was impressive, I'll give you that." Geldis sat down. "So tell me what kind of family I've got."

"Gladly," Taliesin jerked his chin to the basket of parchment and quill and ink that sat on a chair. "Revyn wanted to start mapping the family to figure out what to give to the temple for records, letting it formally be recorded that Sadri of Windhelm has joined with Felix of Cheydinhal and Colovia."

Geldis snorted with amusement. "Well, well, aren't we a fancy lot."

"And a big one. I suggest a bigger table, brother," said Taliesin. "You're going to need the space."

They shifted over to a six-seater table.

"Let's start with your grandparents. Hlaalu Helseth to Inelisi Faro, cousins, House Ra'athim," Revyn muttered, "Bastard daughter, Inanna Faro."

"Born after Inelisi married Legate Gaius Felix of the Imperial Guards assigned to Mournhold. The Legate was in the process of transferring out, his tour over, when he married, and they left Morrowind to settle in Cheydinhal. Of course, marrying the King of Morrowind's mistress came with some perks, like land, which was why Gaius didn't return to Colovia.

"Instead, he gifted his portion over to his brother Max's new wife, Gloria, a penniless widow with a young son. She immediately passed the land title onto her son so that he could afford to start his own company. Ambitious boy by the name of Titus Mede."

"Oh, how nice. Imperial ties as well as Hlaalu royalty," commented Geldis.

"Royalty by fiat," said Revyn, shaking his head as he wrote more names and drew lines. "The royal house was created at the pleasure of Tiber Septim because dealing with all the Houses was beyond his patience. He dealt with the Tribunal. The royals were suppose to control all the Great Houses and Ashlanders. All right. So, Titus Mede..."

"Back then the boy was a footsoldier with an outlaw mercenary troop. With a substantial inheritance now, the boy quit the outlaws to found his own troop and battled his way to warlord, to a king of Colovia, and then decided to make a bid for the Empire. Gaius supported his nephew-by-marriage and was actually part of the command in his army when they marched on the Imperial City to overthrow Thule the Gibbering.

"Gaius Felix took injury and retired from active fighting and went to intel. He did have a son by Inelisi, Namar Felix, but the lad died young in a hunting accident. Inanna joined the armies when she was old enough.

"Eventually she made general by the time Titus Mede II was selected from the candidates and granted the reign name.

"Now Antony Felix was the grandson of Gaius's brother, Max. He got himself assigned as an aide to his cousin's command along with another enterprising West Weald fellow, a Jarlan Tullius. Tullius went onto a brilliant career, yes, that Tullius currently stomping about Skyrim.

"Papa had to get himself reassigned to another unit because courting one's immediate superior is terribly bad form. He made Legate and managed to convince his cousin of his seriousness and they wed and I came along. Then 30 years later Helsette."

Revyn sighed. "Alright, tell me about Little Nicky's line."

"Solidly respectable spirits merchants. Start with Gaius's brother, Maximus Felix. From his first wife, Renata, he had Selena, Hilarius, and Quintus. He had no other children with Gloria Mede. Her son, Titus, chose to keep his father's name.

"Selena married but her branch disappeared in the controversial dragon break. If it weren't for written records of her birth and wedding, we'd not remember her name. Quintus traveled to High Rock, got a letter saying he married, then nothing, then another letter saying he was sick and could we send money, then nothing. We tracked a couple children from the marriage but they were little more than infants and adopted by relatives of her family who had no interest in maintaining contact. Hilarious married Valeria Aquila, daughter of a minor noble. His sons are Antony and Sully.

"Again, Antony, as soon as he was old enough, enlisted because he was in love with his older cousin Inanna and did everything he could to get assigned as one of her junior officers.

"Uncle Sully maintains the wine business. He avoided the Blades thanks to Uncle Timberwolf's counsel, choosing to do his spying purely for family interests. A good thing considering the Thalmor are still actively hunting Blades. But they keep watch on him. His children are Nicholas, Horace, and Martina.

"Cousin Horace handles the vineyards and brewing. He's married to Cadence Meris and their children are Amalie, Poppy, Lyrca, and Phalen. Poppy and Phalen and their mates manage the vineyards and the brewing. Amalie and Lyrca aren't married yet, but Amalie is eyeing a lad whose family owns a trade warehouse and little Lyrca is fascinated with clay and marbles and paints and determined to make a name in the arts.

"Cousin Martina is married to Gunesh Ansari, a wine merchant, and moved to Sentinel. We get the occasional letter from them. Politics and the ongoing conflicts makes keeping contact difficult and sweet Martina hasn't the temperament or talent for intrigue. We do know of at least two children, Binyamin and Ishtar. I should see that you get a copy of her cooking with wine book. She's a genius in that."

"Send me a copy too," said Geldis. "Always looking for ideas."

"Sure thing. Cousin Nicky oversees trade and continues the family spy business. He's married to Helen Faustus, the daughter of a competing family, and has Little Nicky, Crystal, and Flora. Little Nicky, as you know, is playing with the werewolves and the twins, well, stringing along several prospects.

"Now that's the main branch. Grandmother has more detailed records of her Ra'athim House and also tracks the immediate families of the marriage partners, like the immediate families of Valeria Aquila's four brothers and two sisters. Solid, respectable kin to know in Colovia if you do business there. And if you do, better introduce yourself quickly to them before they die off."

Revyn heard the faint bitter notes there and nodded understanding. It was an irritating and sad point that humans died too quickly. Invest a few decades getting to know them, and then they're gone, and their children are already having children.

Taliesin watched, amused, as Revyn carefully mapped relations. The Felix side was looking decidedly fat and bushy compared to the Faro side. He found it touching that the older mer insisted on creating this map so that he could add it to the shelf of the home shrine as a token way to introduce the Felix Ancestors to his own.

"Alright, a vague tie-in to the Mede Dynasty. Wonderful," said Geldis. "Now who is this Uncle Timberwolf you mentioned? Is he blood or honorary?"

He didn't miss the silence. "Oh, bloody hell. That Timberwolf? That Severus Timberwolf, the Nerevarine? There's a rumor about that he's still alive. But then here's also a rumor that there's some damn sorcerer who claims to have found the Clockwork City and is looking to become the next godking of Morrowind."

"That confirms the worst of our fears," said Taliesin, good as admitting to the assertions. "But, cousin, those are rumors best left unsubstantiated. One, because he is family, and the other because such a City is accursed and best left alone in its own bubble of Oblivion."

Geldis considered it. "We need another bottle," he decided. He made a sound of irritation when the nearby servers appeared to be ignoring his calls. So he got up and immediately fetched another sujamma and a brandy. Felix Estates brand. "Sorry about that," he said when he got back and sat down. "They're usually very alert." Taliesin shrugged, a small smile on his face, and he picked back up.

"Since he was responsible for matchmaking Gaius to Inelisi, Gaius asked him to be godsfather when Inanna was born and he accepted. He's been an unofficial godsfather to all of us ever since and so far he seems not to resent it and we're careful not to make that title too onerous a burden.

"I can give you more information about him later. But, we're worried about him. As I said, he's disappeared back into Morrowind and the only clue he left us involved the legends of Sotha Sil's Clockwork City."

"Oh, so you want us to listen for any gossip about Sotha Sil or the Nerevarine," Revyn concluded glumly. "Any other family gossip it might help us to know about?"

Taliesin smiled. "Oh, now here's a secret known only to the family." He eyed both of them sternly. "No records and your word of silence."

"I'll give it, but you're sitting in a tavern," Geldis drawled. "I've no doubt sharp ears have already been making notes."

"I suppose I should mention I'm a master at Illusion spells. You probably haven't notice there's a bubble of silence about this table. No one's been able to hear a thing we've said unless they've been standing within an arm's length of us.

"So, sorry, your wait staff couldn't hear you calling for another drink."

"I'll tell you later about the Illusion tricks he pulled on me when we first met, Geldis," said Revyn. "Irritating. But go on, Tallen, what's the next grand secret?"

"The Great War. Papa went undercover into Valenwood. A botched job got him captured by General Naarifin's dremora servant. He got free of the dremora and took its sword, Goldbrand—"

"Goldbrand?" Revyn interrupted, astonished. "Boethiah's sword, Goldbrand?"

"Yes, that one. Uncle Timberwolf recovered it first, sold it to the Museum of Artifacts, and how General Naarifin got it for his dremora, I don't know, or care for that matter. It's a family artifact and it's going to be Helsette's for her next birthday because I don't use swords."

"Hell of a lot of artifacts went missing from the Museum even before the Argonians sacked Mournhold," Geldis grumbled. "We've seen some come through Raven Rock with refugees. I'd wager plenty more scattered about. Smugglers. They try to make hideouts in the caves around the island, but where there are caves there are Rieklings."

"Now, to continue," said Taliesin, "papa took its sword, Goldbrand, for his own. He also got vital intel of General Naarifin's obscene plan to sacrifice every soul in the Imperial City to summon armies of daedra. Got the intel to his grand uncle and to mama and then went north to find the Emperor who had, as you know, fled north to regroup in Skyrim and to join up with the forces of Hammerfell.

"The Emperor had been injured by Thalmor assassins. He wasn't able to lead his part of the army that was to take back the Imperial City. Papa took his armor and he led the forces and he captured General Naarifin and hung him from the White-Gold Tower.

"After that he gave back the armor to the Emperor and went back to mama. No awards, no recognition because the Emperor could not afford to be anything less than the absolute conquering hero if the empire was to stabilize."

"Lovely. Revyn, you do know that when you marry the bride you marry the family?"

"I know, I know, cousin. But I saw she was Hlaalu and I discounted her human ancestry. I was obviously, horrendously, mistaken."

"Felix spirituum is the family motto. Welcome to our House, gentlemen.

"So now you've got the main family for the past 200 years. I hope you find it useful. Not a Septim or Alessian in the bunch as far as we can tell. How little sister gets the dragonblood is a mystery to me."

"Spontaneous mutation; nature responding to a void by creating the perfect predator," Revyn said automatically.

"Is that your thought?" Taliesin challenged, looking interested.

"Mine? Oh, no. It was something Master Savos wrote in his regular reports to me of his studies on Solstheim. Most of it is beyond me. It's why I brought you along so you could explain some of his theories to me. I can also have copies of his past reports made for you when we get back to Windhelm."

Revyn looked down at his map. "Hm, Taliesin, you should come with me when I take a copy over to the Temple. I have a feeling you should introduce yourself to the Princes since there's actually shrines set up to each in the Temple."

"You do realize I was brought up in the proper worship of the Nine Divines?"

"Of course. So was Helsette. But that didn't stop Azura from taking her on as champion. And she's got Mephala's sword and you said she's going to get Boethiah's. You need an introduction. You have plans to be chasing after your uncle in Morrowind, do you not? I thought so. The Divines aren't welcome there and it'll be easier on you if the Princes are aware of your plans."

"I would think such, ah, introductions would only draw unwelcome attention," said Taliesin lightly.

"Showing up unexpectedly in their territory only irritates them. Letting them know of your intent is only polite and might amuse them enough that they might let you go unhindered."

"Hm."

Revyn shrugged. "I find it generally works with those three."

+—+—+—+—+

Miraak's offer appeared simple. Give him Solstheim and he'd teach Helsette the words she needed to command dragons. Help him get free of Hermaeus Mora and he'd help her against Alduin and any dragons afterwards. Afterwards, well, the world was surely big enough to split between two dragonborns.

Then he'd flown off leaving Revyn pacing the small platform in frustration and mounting despair.

He wasn't dead yet. He was certain of that despite what the First Dragonborn had first implied. There was a grain of truth said, and it sickened him, that dragons can and do eat the souls of their slain enemies. But, he was certain that Miraak did not have first claim should his wife fall. No dragon did.

And he didn't believe his own soul was for Miraak to claim, soul bound or not. This was Hermaeus Mora's realm. If he died here, it was possible he'd remain here forever as some wretched bookworm in this rotting library, but he doubted the Prince would allow Miraak to use him as a pawn.

" _Gods of the Chimer, guide my hand. Here where unknown mysteries lie. Wandering beyond our safe homeland, witness our battles to live or die.._." That song fragment came to mind; Taliesin's inspired versifying after Revyn had introduced him to the shrines of the Three in the Reclamations Temple.

Get angry. Get mad. Don't ask for permission, don't ask for approval, just do it and be ready to battle out the consequences.

He had to get out of this nightmare; wake up before his body in the real world died. He hadn't come by book, there were no tentacles holding his physical self in a ghostly, transitional state. His body was lying there at the Wind Stone, exposed to elements and to any wandering bear or troll or wolf that may wander by.

The usual mantras didn't work to calm his agitation. He couldn't do it. He couldn't reach his Ancestors. Couldn't feel a whisper of their presence. The mocking emptiness shredded and chilled the edges of his anger.

The papers swirled around him; their rustling a constant whisper telling him here was lost knowledge. No one would ever see. No one would ever find again.

He reached up and caught a page. Unknown symbols. Worm scratchings. He crumbled it in anger. Strange letters...

Letters.

Miraak had reeled him in because he was soul bound to his wife. Could he...

"Ancestors Felix, hear me. I call upon you, Gaius Felix, Maximus Felix..." carefully he listed every dead Felix ancestor he could remember. His desperate hope was that Hermaeus Mora's realm was reinforced only against other Daedra realms and not so much Aetherius. He wasn't quite sure where Imperials went when they died but as long as it was not daedric there was hope.

There. Mind and spirit focused and reached. Heart beat with certainty of a connection. Power welled and was freely offered to the Ancestors.

"Ai. About time."

He looked up. A tall, lean Dunmer in the armor of an Imperial General paced about, hands casually clasped behind his back. The Ancestor's expression showing distaste as it surveyed Apocrypha and grim amusement as it regarded Revyn.

"House..."

"No house. No family name of lasting import. I just married into Ra'athim," answered the Ancestor. "Like you I willingly married a world of trouble. But let's hope you survive it better than I did once we get you out of here." He pulled a glass dagger from his belt and with it gestured to a pool. A large scroll rose from it.

"House Felix got your message. Ai. And breached the barrier between this cesspit and Moonshadow." The Ancestor grinned. "Gaius is a nice fellow. Wish I could've met him in life." He flipped the knife and held it hilt first to Revyn. "Consider this a letter opener and there is the envelope."

Revyn cut the rope on the scroll. It unrolled, revealing a page on which symbols and strange writings drifted across in opposing patterns. The Ancestor shoved him into the scroll.

Sunlight blinded him and he heard himself groan as he struggled to sit up.

"Easy there, Friend Revyn," said a familiar voice.

"Storn..."

"Aye. Pellin saw you fall when he called out to you." He helped Revyn sit up and held a cup of warm tea to his lips. "No magic or potion could revive you. You've been here a week. Now drink, and then I will fetch Taliesin who is in the guest house."

+—+—+—+—+

It was a small cave on the northernmost coast. A failed mine invaded by Rieklings. A smugglers cave filled with jewelry and the usual miscellany that Rieklings gather. Revyn had been dreaming of it since waking in the Skaal village three days ago. At his insistence Taliesin, Armiger Pellin, two Redoran Guards assigned to the Skaal, and a few Skaal hunters helped him find it.

One treasure Revyn found in a niche behind the eerie, giant skull was the glass dagger of the Ancestral ghost. Symmachus's Dagger, stolen from the Museum of Artifacts in Mournhold and brought here along with many other treasures. It was an important artifact that probably should be returned to the Dunmer people, but Revyn had the strong feeling that Symmachus, an Imperial General for Tiber Septim and then a King when he married Queen Barenziah, meant for him to keep it. According to lore, the dagger had gone to Helseth when the Symmachus was murdered in a rebellion; King Helseth gifted the dagger to the Nerevarine who later sold it to the Museum.

"Very nice enchantments on it," said Taliesin, handing the dagger back. "Looks like Ancestor Symmachus really likes you if he gave you this. You are keeping it of course." He and Armiger Pellin took the skull and fitted it back into its niche.

"Yes."

"Redorans should be happy with the rest of the recovered antiquities." Taliesing tapped the hand-long fangs of the skull. "You know, this reminds me of a story my godsfather told me about. The Bloodmoon Hunt of Solstheim he called it." While Taliesin entertained the everyone else with the story, Revyn wandered out of the cave and sat on a crate.

He made some vague feints with the dagger, feeling its weight and taking in the play of sunlight through the glass. "Like you, I willingly married a world of trouble."

This was a warrior's weapon. He was a shopkeeper. All right, he'd been stretching out and enjoying the bargaining and business making, working at being more than a shopkeeper. Now the Ancestors had sent a solid message and he wasn't sure what it meant.


	21. Twisting the Blade

**Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

TWISTING THE BLADE

Three barbed arrows were deep in the Nord's chest. Revyn removed the man's Talos necklace. "If I live, I'll see your son gets this." The man nodded and whispered, "Knife. Family, great-grandfather." Revyn nodded and the man died.

"Small comfort to the lad," said a surprising voice from the darkness, "or to his sister in Kynesgrove who now has another mouth to feed."

"Ambarys! What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing, Revyn?"

"I..." Revyn shut up, catching suspicious sounds and then the stench that wafted over the fungus and moss miasma. He turned around, searching the mushroom-lit gloom. He heard Ambarys hiss behind him then the sound of the mer landing in the shallow water pooling along this corridor.

"Behind me," ordered Ambarys. Revyn's eyes widened. Now that his friend was out of the shadows he saw that Ambarys was in his Imperial heavy armor and wielding an Imperial shield and a daedric shortsword.

Ambarys shrugged off his pack. "Your glass dagger is inside. Your carrysack too. Savela packed everything she thought you might need."

Revyn silently called on every blessing he could think of on his apprentice. His netch armor his wife infused with powerful enchantments and constantly upgraded. His Ancestors necklace, gods, how he missed that. He strapped on the glass dagger and shrugged on the carrysack after stuffing it with half the potions. After a moment of thought he also took all the food from Ambarys's pack to further lighten it. He helped Ambarys shrug back into the pack. From a small bag of enchanted rings and amulets, he insisted Ambarys take a health amulet against disease and poisons and a thief ring of hauling and stealth. He also insisted Ambarys use the goggles from his netch armor as added measure against the poison spitting chaurus.

Before he forgot, he quickly removed the knife and its sheath from the Nord's body, wrapped the Talos necklace around it, and stuffed into his sack.

Distinct hissing and clicking sounds got louder. A flicker of movement in the gloom.

"Send in your dogs, Revyn, and keep watch behind in case the bastards are hiding in the walls."

Revyn charged up two fire wolves and they bolted forward onto a giant chaurus coming at them and blowing it to burning fragments. The staff-wielding Falmer behind it recoiled from the fiery projectiles. Ambarys surged forward, leaping over the burning insect and atop the mage, sword first, spitting the mage then smashing it off and against a wall with his shield. He back-kicked the staff to Revyn who caught it up in time to use it's ice blast against the armored warrior dropped down from a hole high near the ceiling. A second, less armored figure dropped almost on top of him. He scored it with the steel needles in his gloves and it fell aside, twitching from the paralytic touch. He swiftly sank his dagger through the atrophied patch of flesh that should have been an eye. Then again to the thawing armored warrior.

He spun back around. Ambarys was engaged against two armoreds. Two more unarmoreds were coming, one with the tell-tale glow of a mage shield. Revyn sent in two more wolves. The explosions didn't slow Ambarys. The fullers of the daedric blade glowed brightly through the thick rivulets of gore running through them.

Revyn darted forward when he could, slapping and paralyzing anything that moved then stabbing.

They found a room to retreat into. Revyn kept watch while Ambarys rested.

"What are you doing here? Did Savela tell you I was in trouble?"

"Of course she did, you s'wit. She heard you and this Breton woman arguing. When you weren't to be found when she returned the next day to work, she came to me. I'm only aware of one 'Delphine' and she is not good company, Revyn."

"I know that. But how do you know her? How did you find me?" He didn't like the long silence that followed. The shuttered expression on his friend's face was not one he'd seen before.

Delphine appeared around a bend in the hall, following the trail of bodies.

"There you are. Don't you have any sense to stay in place where you can be found?" she demanded, haughtily.

"Certainly. Until the Falmer find us first. Durant is dead if you hadn't noticed," Revyn retorted. Delphine only frowned as if irritated. He stood aside to let her into the room. She froze and glared down at Ambarys.

"Who is this?" she demanded of Revyn.

Before Revyn could answer Ambarys drawled, "I'm a bartender, Riverwood innkeeper."

She leveled her blade at his face. "Oh, really? Unusual outfit for a bartender."

"Oh? And Blades armor is common to innkeepers?" Ambarys slowly got to his feet. Not from any care or caution about the sword pointed at him, but more from aches in long unused muscles. "I was recruited by Cosades."

"I don't know him."

"Before your time. Day before yesterday. Over 200 years ago in Balmora when I was a young, idealistic idiot stationed at Fort Moonmoth who believed in the Empire. I was a Finder."

"You're a Blade."

"Was. Morrowind Chapter. And don't be thinking to pull rank on me and order me about. I'll have nothing to do with you or your cause."

"You'd turn your back so quickly your duty?" she challenged.

"Duty ended even before the last Septim was spent," Ambarys said on a hard note of finality. He went around her and nudged Revyn aside to get into the hall. "Now, what are we looking for and where do we find it?" He looked at Delphine, expressionless. "I take it back. I'll take your lead this once. But I'm only here to protect my friend. Got it?"

"As a Blade..." she began.

Ambarys interrupted. "Call yourself grandmaster all you want as the last member of your chapter. But it would take the Dragonborn herself to call any of the remaining Morrowind Blades back to service — if she cares to find us. A bunch of old, old Dunmer is all that's left. And if she does, we would only take her orders. We don't give a damn about any Akaviri scum legacy. They're not our Ancestors."

"I am the only one who can guide her to her true purpose."

Ambarys' opinion was a level of obscenity Revyn physically flinched on hearing. Delphine lunged sword first. Ambarys shield-blocked and followed with a back spin-kick, slamming her against a wall. Delphine collapsed, coughing mightily.

"Company," said Revyn. He sent ice blasts down the corridor while Ambarys hauled Delphine into the hallway. He dropped her at Revyn's feet then drew his sword and stationed himself further up to give Revyn time to treat Delphine.

Revyn put a mead flask to her mouth. "Drink," he ordered. He helped steady the flask as she drank then let her and it go as he stood to start casting his fire wolves. The Falmer were driving their chaurus pets first to weaken their defense.

+—+—+—+—+

"Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares. Take a look around; I'm sure I have something you need."

The stone-faced Breton woman acknowledged his greeting with a curt nod. Revyn turned his attention back to a young man trying to decide which necklace to buy for his mother's birthday. When that was settled he went to the Breton woman who had stationed herself before a rack of weapons. Over the rack was a black dai-katana, clearly marked not-for-sale, and underneath that displayed two mounted parchments. The larger of the two was the final writ of the sword's owner, Bolar. The other was a note on where the blade was found and the date.

"Is there something here that interests you, madam?" Revyn inquired.

"There's a special item I want, but we need to talk in private."

Revyn arched an eyebrow. "I don't deal in contraband."

"Not contraband, but I've heard you and your wife have a knack for obtaining lost treasures."

"Ah. Are we talking Nord barrows, ancient Dwemer ruins, bandit strongholds — that type of 'lost' treasures?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps. But we've quite a full plate as it is. What are you looking for?"

"Not here. In private as I said," the Breton said, stepping close.

Revyn stepped back. "What. And give you privacy to kill me for knowing too much if you tell me what you are seeking and I still refuse? I am not buying. Good day, madam. The door is behind you."

The woman scowled at him, "Gold. Is it gold you want to talk about? Fine, we can discuss that here if you want."

"I don't buy items unseen anymore."

"I'm not talking about you buying. I'm talking about payment."

"Still buying trouble. And I don't bargain for my wife's employment. You'll have to discuss that with her yourself."

"I don't want your wife. I want you."

Revyn couldn't help himself. He laughed. "I'm a shopkeeper, not a spellsword. I don't do treasure hunts. Now, please leave." He turned away but she caught his arm.

"I'm on an important mission for the Dragonborn and I need your help," she said, spitting the words out between clenched teeth.

It took a couple of heartbeats for Revyn to get over his shock. "Really?" he said lightly. "You really should be talking to my wife then. She's been employed by the Dragonborn a time or two."

"I don't need a spellsword. I need a ghost talker and word around the Gray Quarters is that you're one."

"That nonsense again!" Revyn burst out, discretion be damned. Savela and other customers looked at them. "Find a priest or a necromancer if you are having trouble with hauntings. It's no business of mine." He tried to tug his arm from her grip but she held on.

"Release me, madam, and leave."

"Not until you hear me out."

"Madam, I grow as deaf as you."

She let him go. "Fine. But the Dragonborn will not be happy if she has to take time from her important tasks to fetch—"

"The Dragonborn knows how to contact my wife if there's a job that needs doing."

"You are the one specified for this task," the woman insisted. Revyn paused, eyeing her intently.

"Who specified me? And I want your name before I will listen to anything further."

"It's not important."

Revyn merely lifted his chin, mirroring her arrogance.

"Camilla."

"Of Riverwood?" He had surprised her, he could tell by the way her eyes flickered. "Pardon, but you do not match the description of Miss Valerius. Now tell me who named me or you can give me your real name."

Her stoic mask was back in place but hostility seeped through every movement. "Delphine."

"The Sleeping Giant Inn. Yes. My wife often warns me to avoid Orgnar's cooking should I ever need to visit Riverwood. Very well, Miss Delphine, if you'll come this way, we can talk." He signaled to Savela to take over the store as he and the Breton went into the kitchen.

"Alright, Miss Delphine, tell me what you are searching for, why is it important, and how this relates to the Dragonborn."

"You don't need to know all that. All I can tell you is that it is important and you will be paid well for your trouble."

Revyn made a sound of disgust and pivoted sharply about to leave the room.

"Tamriel was once covered with numerous wayshrines. These wayshrines allowed travelers to cross vast distances like the teleportation stations in Morrowind, the Mages Guild, and various temples, except that the wayshrines needed no attending mage or mages to facilitate transport."

Revyn sat on a chair at the dining table and poured himself a glass of juice. He did not offer the woman a seat or refreshment.

"The wayshrines functioned up through the Second Era, but the system ceased to function or was destroyed at some point early in the Third Era. There are rumors of intact wayshrines, but nonfunctional. However, ancient texts were found that hinted a special focus crystal could be used to manually reactivate a shrine to create two-way travel between the re-activated shrine and the destination shrine."

Revyn stared into his cup, tapping the sides and watching the ripples in the orange comberry juice. "Sounds interesting, but chancy. But how would one go about finding intact shrines? And having found one, how to find one to connect to?"

"Beyond my expertise and none of which concerns you once we find the stone." Delphine invited herself to a chair.

"I see. And where is this stone to be found? If I agree to this, I have no intention of traipsing about all of Skyrim searching. I may consent to one location. If your information is false and there is nothing there, then that's it.

"Also, I have no idea what ideas you have about this rumor that I talk to ghosts. Hostile ancestor ghosts, hauntings — this is something the wise women handle. Or a priest. Or, at worst, a necromancer. I am none of those."

"So you keep saying. The stone is in a Dwemer ruin infested with Falmer. I've been there so I can know the shortest way to get you in. The stone is behind a Dunmer ghost fence and Dunmer guardians. I had a mage with me. They repelled every spell he threw and then they killed him. Harald Greentree. He was a Winterhold scholar you spent some time with talking Dunmer theology when he was writing his treatise on the spiritual aspects of necromancy. He was the one who mentioned you as a practitioner of the Old Ways of Dunmer religion."

Revyn rolled his eyes. Really, these Nords. A small little home shrine anyone could set up and suddenly they think he's the Arch-canon of Vvardenfell. "Do you know the House, clan, and family of these ghosts? And before you ask, yes, it does matter. Ancestral guardians. Understand? An-ces-tral. The connection is blood."

"Hlaalu or Dres. Those are the nearest territories. That shrine was a gate to Skuldafn, the neutral meeting place of the leaders, and that area was a hidden weapons depot for the Dunmer armies of Amalexia and the Nord armies of Jorunn Skald-King. The guardians were put in place in case the mortal guards fell."

"Almalexia relied heavily on the Redorans in her army. Equally likely they could be guarding," Revyn added, then, "Willing sacrifices or a binding of unwilling, miscreant spirits? And, yes, it matters."

"Unknown."

"The more I hear, the less I like my chances. Right now, it's still suicide." He stood up. "Give my apologies to the Dragonborn. I can't help you."

+—+—+—+—+

Delphine tried one more time to recruit Ambarys to her cause, this time citing the proud legacy of the Akaviri dragonslayers who bowed to the Reman dragonborn. Ambarys listened, impassive until she'd finished, then spat, "Ebonheart Pact!" at her and turned his back and walked away. Revyn only shrugged at her gaze and walked after his friend.

They'd found a room with at working inner lock and had decided it was safe enough to sleep in. Delphine went the far end of the room and settled down. Revyn and Ambarys took a corner warmed by large pipes that let out occasional hisses of steam, and which also helped cover their voices.

"Why'd you go with Delphine?"

"She and Durant jumped me when I was on my way back from the White Phial. They'd already had me deep in the ruins when they stopped drugging me and let me wake up.

"I don't suppose you know where we are?" he asked, plaintively.

"The entrance is a small cave entrance hidden by brush just below the summit of Forelhost in the Rift. I'd guess that we are east of the entrance." Ambarys removed most of his armor. Revyn helped him clean off bug slime and Falmer blood.

"Savela came to me when she couldn't find you. Delphine was her instant suspicion. Damn shame the Selvaai ladies weren't about or that cheeky brother-in-law of yours. I'd feel a hell of a lot better with them along.

"How I found you comes back to that Nord, Durant. You'd left for the White Phial. Durant had come in, no doubt after seeing you leave and what path you took. Savela waited on him while he picked out a presents for his son and his sister's children. Savela got him talking; doing that small talk you've been teaching her is so important. What she gleaned is that he's originally from Markarth and that he and his son were relocating to the Rift along with his widowed sister and her brood, and that they were all temporarily staying in Kynesgrove.

"All pretty innocent except that he wore the same type of blade Delphine did. The Blades katana is a distinctive weapon.

"Then he asked for the presents to be delivered to Kynesgrove. Obviously, he had something else going on.

"Elani watched the shop while Savela and I went to Kynesgrove. What I got from the sister is that they are survivors of village wiped out by a dragon. Savela flirted with the son and got that his father was about to leave on an important mission in the Rift to a fortress of dragonpriests.

"Once back home I packed my old armor and weapons and rented a horse. I got lucky with a Dawnguard patrol that knew what and where this fortress is. The fortress was locked tight so I had to work my way around until I found the cave entrance. After that, it was follow the bodies."

"There was better armor in my shop. You could've taken any you wanted."

"I'm used to this one. The bonemold was tempting, but I prefer not to learn on the fly how to make the best use of the armor.

"Now, what's the mission?" Revyn explained. At the end Ambarys shook his head and laid back and closed his eyes. "Short-sighted with blinders. She fixates on an old, easily defined, singular foe because taking on the Dominion is beyond her. No doubt with a teleport system she dreams of making some sort of glorious strike right into Summerset." Revyn hummed agreement.

"Why'd you join the Blades?" Revyn asked.

"Seemed more exciting that formation training and drills. And I was young enough then to think all the intrigue exciting. I was fetching stupid back then." He sighed.

"Dragons aren't the worst of what came out of Akavir. She forgets that part of history. It was the Taesci in the first invasion. Lord Vivec and Dreugh kings drove them to Pale Pass and the Reman armies came. They kneeled to the Reman Dragonborn, claiming they had been searching for one such as he to lead them, according to Delphine's romanticized shit.

"In the second invasion, the Akavir invaders were the snow demons, the Kamal. No dragon-voiced Emperor helped us there. It was Lady Amalexia, the Skald-King of Windhelm, and three tribes of Argonians to face the demons. That was the Ebonheart Pact.

"Now the first wave, the Taesci, may hate the dragons, but they weren't any friend of Men or Mer either, those snakes. They loved intrigue. And that, friend, was the biggest failing of the Blades. Sure, in the past it made the Blades strong by ensuring that beheading one chapter did not kill the nest. But Men and Mer are not Taesci, yet the Blades seek to emulate the Taesci.

"Don't trust Delphine's assertions that the Blades serve the Dragonborn. Pah! To the Blades the Dragonborn is nothing more than a weapon to be used. She will never acknowledge that it's a bad habit inherited from the original serpent-scaled Akaviri invaders who considered Men and Mer as the dragons did, no better than meat to feed on.

"And if the meat proves a dangerous animal and invaluable tool, what better way to domesticate it to service than by pretending to swear allegiance and say that all that you do is to keep it safe. The Taesci subverted and killed their exalted Dragonborn Remans and ruled as Potentates until Tiber Septim. Keep that in mind."

"That's horribly cynical,' said Revyn, subdued.

"Call it a result of our breeding, Revyn. We call three charming Daedra our Ancestors, remember? We'd be a disgrace to them if we didn't assume ulterior motives." Revyn couldn't but chuckle along with Ambarys.

"You surprise me, Ambarys. I had no idea you were such a lore- and blade-master."

"I was trained to a sword as soon as I could stand. My father was the armsmaster for a lord's the private militia. I'm actually quite surprised my reflexes are still there even if my endurance isn't. Speaking of which, do you have any extra stamina shots? I'm down to my last two."

"I've six left. I'll keep two and the other four are yours. Also, let's trade blades. The enchantments on my dagger bolsters blade skill, stamina, and health. I think you could use it better than I even if it's shorter than your daedric shortsword." He handed it over to Ambarys who made test passes with the blade.

He frowned and studied the weapon more closely. "This isn't one of your wife's crafting. It's older."

"It's the Dagger of Symmachus. I found it in a smuggler's cave on Solstheim."

Ambarys slowly grinned. "So a family heirloom. It'd be an honor.

"As for lore, thank my mother the historian and novelist. She loved stories and finding facts behind legends. And listenting to stories is part and parcel of being a bartender. Incredible how much history floats on the currents of alcohol. And if I hadn't argued and questioned so much with the local priests during religion classes, I probably would have ended up with the Armigers instead of the Legion."

"I don't understand, the Armigers value a quick mind and independent spirit."

"The priests didn't. They thought I was too rebellious and too lazy to comprehend their gospel and so refused the character references needed for Temple service."

Revyn made a sound of disgust and shook his head in sorrow at such short-sightedness.

+—+—+—+—+

Hours of tedious sneaking and fighting made even slower as they ran out of potions. The enchanted rings and amulets helped, but they were no substitute for food and rest. But finally, they got to the wayshrine cavern. Dunmer-style columns and cement work and lit by magical fires instead of mushrooms. There were numerous chests, rows of shelves laden with armor, racks of weapons.

At the back of chamber was an elevated platform with biers of armored skeletons holding their favorite weapons; the sacrificed guardians of the wayshrine. Banners of the Tribunal, of Houses Hlaalu, Dres and Redoran, and of Windhelm hung on the walls around them.

Skeletons of past trespassers littered the floor. Near the wayshrine itself, the mostly decomposed body of a mage by its Winterhold robes.

Revyn dashed forward and roughly pulled Delphine back before she stepped over the threshold between the chamber and the corridor.

"Watch the corridor!" he ordered. "Let me do what you brought me here to do. Ambarys, it will take all my concentration to make any connection. If I'm successful, they'll talk. But, I may be incapacitated for various reasons. If so, you will need to do the negotiations. Don't let her do any of the talking."

"Understood."

He loosened the scarf around his throat and tugged at the neckline of his armor to pull out his necklace, spreading it to display across his chest. "Oh, the dagger, I'll take it back now, please." He removed his gloves and tucked them away then used the dagger to rather dramatically cut his palms. He thrust the dagger under his belt instead of into its scabbard. Hands extended over the threshold, he let blood drip onto the floor before crossing into the chamber.

He would kneel, he would pray, he would stand and advance a bit further, he would place his hands together and, eyes closed, would seem to aimlessly turn here then there then meander in random directions, kneel again. All the while gently glowing orbs seemed to seep from the walls and the floors; some paced in steady circles around the room and others followed the mer about. Some orbs floated placidly, some were agitated and grouping as if arguing.

Sometimes he spoke and it wasn't always his voice.

+—+—+—+—+

Revyn held the sigil stone. Imagine the shape of water poured into a basin and made solid. Black, yet reflecting light within its prismatic depths. The stone felt warm. It was, in fact, getting warmer and starting to vibrate every so subtly.

"Now according to Esbern that stone will activate an ancient network of teleportation shrines that used to cover all of Tamriel, even to Summerset." Delphine's eyes shone with predatory glee. "Think of it, a way to infiltrate the Thalmor on their own home ground. Now all we need to do is find an intact wayshrine in a more convenient place."

"That's all very fine, but we need to get out of here," said Ambarys. "Revyn, you well enough to move?"

"I need a moment."

"Ambarys is right; we need to leave now," said Delphine, impatiently. She reached for the stone but Revyn jerked away. Ambarys stepped between.

"If you take the stone, I guarantee you won't leave here alive with it," said Ambarys, calmly. "And neither will we. He's the only one they'll permit to have the stone. Which means, missy, even if we all get out of here, you still can't have the stone. Find your wayshrine, but you'll need him to bring the stone to it." He grinned unpleasantly. "And you'd better be able to convince his wife to go along with it because kidnapping him a second time won't work."

Delphine found it hard to argue. Around them, the orbs were morphing and assuming defined shapes, the guardians came forth. The temperature dropped noticeably, the breaths of the living frosting in the air.

An ominous rumble was starting and the ground began trembling. The final caution of the guardians had been to get out because once the stone was taken, they were going to destroy the wayshrine.

"Fine," she hissed. "I'll lead. You take—"

"Both of you, behind me. The ghosts will lead," said Revyn, tiredly. He'd put the stone in his carrysack and Ambarys helped him to stand. "They know a way we can go that's the fastest way to the surface."

And they did, taking them out of the chamber. Falmer hissed and withdrew. The chaurus and chaurus hunters fled. The spirits led them to a tunnel that ended in machinery and an icy body of water.

The way out, the spirits insisted, was through the lake. "Hold your breath and grab onto one of the scoops of that belt," said Revyn, miserably. "Just ... hold on."

Delphine was sandwiched between the two Dunmer. As they was dragged into the ice water they both invoked Ancestors Wrath, their fires just barely kept the cold away else they'd all have lost consciousness moments after going under.

They were dragged up into a small cavern lit by mushrooms. They let go of the belt as it headed into a giant toothed wheel near the ceiling. They lay in a heap, gasping for air. Revyn forced enough energy to tug at the flames staff that was tied to Ambarys's pack. He used it to heat a piles of rock debris against a wall. They crawled nearer and slept. Once they woke, it was a steep but relatively short climb to an abandoned mine.

The found rusted pickaxes and dug the rest of their way out. Fortunately, the collapsed section was shallow and of loose rubble over the entrance. The mine entrance let them out onto the steep side of a mountain. They walked downwards and once the trees thinned due to recent logging, they could see a massive fortress surrounded by a massive wooden fence of logged trees.

"Fort Dawnguard. Well, at least we can be assured of food and a safe place to rest," said Revyn.

"I'll take the sigil stone now," said Delphine.

"You stupid s'wit," Ambarys snarled and stepped forward to block her. "The stone stays with Revyn. You weren't listening very well while I was negotiating with the spirits, were you? You lucked out that most of the spirits there were Hlaalu. Then a second time when you got Revyn here, one of the few I know who practices the old ways and keeps a shrine for both his own and his wife's ancestors. His wife's family had the name-pull the spirits recognized and that made him an acceptable medium to work through even though he was no blood relation, especially since there were Dres, Redoran, and others.

"Most of the spirits have accepted release will go to the rest once they destroy the the wayshrine. The ones that remain have reattached to the stone and will only remain peaceful so long as the stone remains with Revyn in Windhelm.

"You've done your work for the Dragonborn; you've found the stone. Now you can go back to her dragonship and tell her it's in safe hands. And if ever the time comes, Revyn will bring it to her."

"That's not how this works."

"Don't try me, girl. This old and rusty Blade can still take your jumped-up grandmaster pretentions to the ground. Now run along and report to the Dragonborn you're suppose to be serving."

Delphine glared, her hand twitching a long while over the hilt of her katana. But at last she spun around and walked away. They watched her until she disappeared into the trees.

"Thank you, Ambarys."

"Yeah. Right." Ambarys was scowling at the ground. When he finally looked up and met Revyn's eyes, he looked readied for battle. "You know, Revyn, you've been involving yourself in trouble since you married. Tell me true, is Helsette the Dragonborn?"

Revyn heaved a great sigh of relief. "Yes."

"Hah. Elani owes me a keg of brandy." Ambarys grinned. "A very big keg."

"Ambarys..."

"Revyn..." Ambarys echoed, mockingly.

They started walking to Fort Dawnguard. Wall sentries spotted them and they could see two guards starting uphill to meet them.

"The ghosts will be happy," Ambarys remarked. "In case you're too tired to sense them, the attached spirits on the stone are Nords. Officers in Jorunn Skald-King's army who volunteered for sacrifice. They wanted to go home to Windhelm and they'll hang around your shop and guard it along with the stone. I didn't catch their names, but I'm sure you'll find that out later in your own time. But they did say that when the time is right, they'll gladly go to glory in Sovengard."

"Oh, how nice." Revyn said, inanely.


	22. Passed The Line

**Disclaimer** : What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 _So we've met and will meet more of Helsette's kin. This is a wistful sigh for Revyn's own._

PASSED THE LINE

"Revyn! Hurry it up! Gonna pack the whole caravan?" Cousin Tirenea slapped the butt of her spear lightly against his backside which was sticking out of an oversized leather and wood chest. The top half of him was buried under a mound of stuff that lumped and tumbled with his activity.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just gotta make sure I... Aha! Got it." He wriggled backwards out of the hide chest with a lumpy leather roll that he quickly stuffed into his travel pack.

"Ready now?"

He didn't immediately answer her, being occupied with strapping his knife to his leg and adjusting the harness that settled his chuuk comfortably against his lower back. Then he shrugged on his pack. "Ready," he said.

She preceded him to a campfire where Bonsu, Maludren, and Athikan were waiting. His older cousins grinned at him. "Ready for your last adventure, city boy?" asked Maludren.

"Stop calling me that," said Revyn, scowling. "I grew up here in the Ashlands."

"Stop that, Malu," Tirenea said, lightly punching his shoulder. "He doesn't become a soft city boy until he's been there a year."

"And becomes another of the false gods' House-broken pets," muttered Athikan.

Revyn skipped up to Athikan and kicked his leg. "Say that to my father's face, scrib wits, because if he says that's what I have to do to become like him..."

His other cousins laughed and shoved Athikan until he grinned and held his hands up in surrender. "Apologies, little cousin. Therane Sadri is as fierce and shrewd and capable as any kahn of the tribe and is no one's House pet. If he says you must spend the most important years of your life in the crowd and filth of the cities, so be it."

"Apology accepted," Revyn huffed. Then he brightened. "Provided you teach me how to throw axes like you do."

Maludren, the oldest, picked up his pack. "We all ready then?" Everyone did mental checks on what they had packed. It took Revyn a little longer because he habitually packed more. When they all nodded, Maludren led them at a brisk trot out of the tribe's encampment

The cousins were heading towards the surface ruins of a rare Dwemer surface settlement. The general belief was that it was a trading post before relations between Dwemer and Chimer crumbled. From the encampment it was two days' travel.

It took that long because the older cousins had to slow their pace for Revyn. They didn't want him collapsing from exhaustion for stubbornly pushing himself to keep up with them. It wasn't that he was weak or sickly, but his lifestyle wasn't centered around hunting and herding as theirs was.

A caravan brat. When he traveled in the caravan, his position, as most children's were, was to sit on top of the pack guars with a small horn, and bow and arrows when they were old enough, and from that higher vantage point keep watch for dangers. At 14 he had become too old for that and had walked with the adults the last two years. He could keep a good walking pace while carrying goods, but wasn't conditioned to being able to jog from sunrise to sunset as they were.

He was also a decade younger while his cousins were in their 20s. Maludren, at 26, had just passed his maturity test and was considered an adult. Tirenea and Athikan in a half-year would take theirs and Bonsu in another year or so.

And, again, he did have that bad habit of packing extra weight of things he thought he might need. The trader's habit of always having some goods he might be able to trade on, although out here, who or what was there to trade with? "Keeping options available," his father often said and which the boy faithfully quoted. Heavy options, the Ashlander cousins thought, but they weren't going to gainsay a father's training for his child.

They found a small waterhole with a couple of large zreku clumps. Revyn used his chuuk, a harvesting tool, even weapon if there was nothing better, of two heavy sticks connected by a cord of braided leather, to break through the long, dried spines and knock free the nuts growing amidst them. He gathered the nuts and some of the long spines while the rest of them bagged water. There were kagouti tracks, many overlaying tracks, so they wouldn't be staying in the vicinity long.

They made camp under an overhang of rock. Bonsu and Athikan went hunting while Maludren and Tirenea filtered the water.

Their city cousin had packed a small, hammered iron wok and spices and dried vegetables so when the hunting pair came back with an alit, he was able to make a delicious soup from the tough meat. He also boiled his share of the filtered water. Fussy like his father about the taste of the water. Then from Revyn's pack came a jar of scrib jelly and a bag of saltice grains, precooked, smashed, dried and broken into flakes. He smashed the oily zreku nuts, put them in a blight-moth silk bag and twisted it to squeeze out the oil. He was making nunzreku, a dense, nourishing travel food of nut meat, scrib jelly, and grains. The flavorful but slightly bitter oil was put into the now empty scrib jelly jar. It was good for flavoring but even better medicine to rub into the skin for rashes, light burns, preventing infections.

Athikan showed Revyn how to find the right hold on an axe or knife he intended to throw and to recognize the ideal types for throwing and the others. The others chatted and worked on smoothing the broken ends of the zreku spines. They would make fine sewing needles, dart weapons, even decorative pins.

Revyn wasn't ashamed to not volunteer for guard duty hours. He knew he wasn't quite up to his cousins' standards and falling asleep while on guard duty would have been unforgivable, so he had tried to make up for that by showing he was resourceful with food. But still, he didn't immediately fall asleep though he had expected to. Bonsu, Maludren, and Athikan were already asleep. He could sense Tirenea ghosting silently about. In the distance, the kagouti grunted and clacked at each other as they splashed and jostled in the waterhole.

After this last adventure with his cousins the trade caravan returning to Vivec City. He'd say goodbye to his cousins and his mother's clan for the next ten years. He was to be apprenticed to his aunt to learn the shopkeeper's trade in the Waistworks of the Hlaalu Canton where they sold goods from the Ashlands and Grazelands. He wished he didn't have to, but father said it was time for him to learn the ways of a city and it was necessary to learning the family businesss. The family fortune was not in trading between the tribes, it was in selling the treasures gleaned in the Ashlands to the wealthy Houses. And the Ashlander family and tribes didn't need the material goods of the Houses, they needed information of what was happening in the Houses, anything that might affect the clans. Information, solid and reliable, was the biggest trade good among the tribes.

His father had taken the time to learn who wanted to know what; what random news he heard in the cities would be valuable. The khans he gossiped to showed their appreciation with gifts that could be traded for a nice profit elsewhere, or concessions, such as those smoothing the way to courtship.

That, now that had enabled his grandfather to court a bride from the Zainab and his father from this family of Urshilaku. In the future, he imagined, he would also find a bride in the Ashlands. His bloodline, for all its origins in the Houses, was respectable in the clans. Both his grandmother and mother had been daughters of wisewomen with strong gifts in the female children, and his grandfather and father had established their name for fair trades in goods and information.

He would miss dearly his mother, Delore, but she couldn't stand the city; claimed she felt caged. But she reluctantly agreed with his father that this was necessary.

Then there was that disquieting moment two nights before with Grandmother Hlailie, the wise woman of this tribe. He had been leaning against his grandfather being shown how to fletch an arrow so that it would spin for straighter flight. He'd idly talked about his dreams of coming back to the Ashlands in the trade caravans after his shop apprenticeship.

But his grandmother had gotten one of those looks that even his grandfather had automatically tensed up. "You are not coming back," his grandmother had said. "Your destiny is in a distant city far, so far away." She looked at him so sadly that he started tearing up. "I'm coming back!" he cried. She smiled and patted his cheek. "Carry the fire in your heart. Be the beacon in the dark. All our paths we walk alone. But to the fires we all come home." She pulled him into a tight hug. "Now, don't let your cousins lead you into anything foolish while you're out there. I know you feel as if you need to prove to them you're as tough as any child of the clan, but use the sense your father's been training into you. Use your resources wisely." When grandmother had released him his grandfather had gruffly called his attention back to fletching and pushed feathers, string, and a stick into his hands, ordering him to show him what he had learned.

"Vivec City," he told himself, "is not that far away. Ten years isn't forever." He repeated those assurances until he fell asleep.

+—+—+—+—+

They finally arrived at the ruins late in the evening of the second day. Maluden and Tirenea scouted the area ahead for any signs of dangerous animals or daedra while the rest of them looked for a good camp site.

Earlier in the day they had come across two Imperial soldiers escorting two Nords and an Altmer. The Ashlander cousins would normally have avoided them but Revyn had insisted on talking to them, claiming they looked distressed, so they reluctantly allowed themselves to be seen. The soldiers and Altmer had reacted with proper caution while the Nords, two women, had waived in an eager, friendly manner to Revyn's upheld hand. The three had met in the middle area of their respective groups.

Turns out the party was lost. The soldiers were still learning the area and had missed their landmark. The Nords and the Altmer were healers studying Blight diseases and the herbal cures being used for treatment. The group was trying to get back to Valenvaryon. The party had had an unfortunate encounter with daedra and dremora and, in fleeing, had lost food, tents, sleeping rolls, extra weapons, and lab equipment. They had their waterskins, small bags of collected herbs, and potions.

Prevent Blight potions, healing potions, other needful restoratives; they'd had the sense to snatch those up and keep hold of them in their flight. Revyn traded for six of the Prevent Blight and another six of restoratives for half the nunzreku balls, three of six ash hopper legs, killed this morning and roasted for eating during travel, a crude map he quickly drew on the back of a shield to get them to Valenvaryon, and he got Maludren to tell the soldiers what to look for in the way of landmarks. All in all, a worthwhile trade stop.

Since it was a good trade the older cousins' cautions about walking up to and talking to strangers was only half-hearted.

They finally found the ruins. Ash and sand had half covered the main building, but it was still possible to find the entrance. A couple hours of digging would clear it, but that was for tomorrow. Maludran and Tirenea would scout about first as a precaution while the others found a camp site well away from the ruins.

No daedra or dremora about. No large animals. No water and very little vegetation that was edible. They had enough stores for a day of exploration before they turned around and headed back home.

They speculated on what they might find. Since it was a surface building exposed for centuries, probably nothing. The far-off Cyrodiil Empire decreed all Dwemer ruins protected and anything found within Imperial property, Ashlanders would hardly care. Most underground ruins were avoided because of the still-active Dwemer guardians — the obvious metal ones and just maybe the angry ghosts of the former inhabitants — but this site looked to be picked over. Their peculiar gold-tone metal wasn't easy to work in makeshift forges, one had to build large forges to get the proper temperatures or find an open lava pool, but it was a worthwhile harvest because there were always buyers among the city dwellers.

Malu thought there might be a wild kwama nest inside. He'd spotted the marks of kwama foragers and scribs. It was something to hope for. Fresh scribs and kwama eggs would make a tasty meal. Being able to bring back to the tribe the eggs would also be a good thing.

Athikan woke them all just after midnight. He pointed to the moons that were beginning to fracture on the red horns of an approaching Blight storm. They cucooned themselves in cloaks and veils, put on goggles against the rising winds, gathered supplies and bedding, and shifted around the boulders they had set camp against so that the rocks took the force of the wind. Then they all tucked themselves under Maludren's tent cloth, which was the biggest, to further protect themselves against debris.

The storm abated just before dawn, but they stayed tucked under until the sun was fully out then took their time shaking off the red ash from their clothing and making sure everything else was ash-free.

"Do we still want to explore the ruins?" asked Bonsu. "I'm still rather curious. But it would be terrible place to be trapped in if any blighted scribs or foragers showed up.

"If they were blighted," said Athikan. "We could get lucky and and hope it was only the ones caught outside that got sick. If there's a nest inside the ruins, they still may be healthy if the foragers haven't returned. The eggs should still be good in any case.

"Digging through red ash though," said Tirenea. "Bad enough we have to stay wrapped up in this heat until we're sure. "Just far enough inside, I say, to assess if there is a nest and if it's a healthy nest. If no nest, then a quick look around, see if there's anything of interest, then get out."

That was agreed on. Revyn got watch duty while the entrance was being widened, also because if there was a wild kwama nest within, there would be kwama warriors and they didn't think Revyn was up to fighting those creatures. His spear fighting was clumsy, the chuuk, as a weapon, was chancy, and what he was really good at was a child's bow with it's thin arrows topped with zreku spines. A nuisance weapon really, more like firing over-sized darts enough to kill small animals and insects but his aim couldn't be faulted.

And, like the rest of them, he knew how to recognize signs of a blighted animal. It made a traveling merchant's a misery to have to kill affected pack animals. Far more work for much less profit because one could only afford to carry what the merchants and guards themselves could pack out if the beasts had to be slaughtered

Back at the tribal camp, food plants would go unharvested. There would be no hunting for at least a week and everyone would be watching affected animals. Small herds had to be separated to individuals and larger herds separated to smaller, manageable groups. If even one beast in a group showed signs, all in that group would be slaughtered and bodies burned and buried. A cure Blight potion worked on a guar, but it needed three times as much as a person, so only prize breeders were afforded the protection if there were any potions to spare.

For a week minimum the only food was protected stores of dried or leftover food and water that had been adequately covered against dust. After a week, hunting could be resumed with high caution. Having plenty of the proper healing potions was necessary. If that resource was lacking, then starving out another week and praying that another ash storm wouldn't happen in the meantime. Life in the Ashlands was hard enough and the decades of Blight had killed more through starvation than the incursions of the Houses. Against the Blight, the Urshilaku, even the Erabenimsun, sent warriors to help guard the Ghostfence alongside the hated Ordinators and Armigers. Maludren would be among those sent in the next couple of years to do his duty to protect the tribe against the Blight monsters there.

Revyn spotted a forager and a small clutch of scrib but no signs of disease yet. Signs wouldn't show until two or three days later after the storm. With scrib, the signs would be easy enough when the non-aggressive, aimless creatures tried to attack. Foragers were naturally aggressive but they hunted in certain patterns. It was the ones that aimlessly wandered about or in purposeless circles that indicated disease.

"Hsst! Revyn. There is a wild kwama nest. Stay out here. The warrior bugs in this one are big ones. We'll come fetch you when it's relatively safe."

"Fight well, Tir," Revyn said. "Oh! Wait. Here's two resist Blight potions we got off the outlanders. Big enough for the four of you."

"Great. Thanks."

"How long should I wait?"

She stuck a stick in the sand and drew a line. "Any longer, go home for help." Revyn looked sharply back at her.

"Not worth it if it's that dangerous," he said. "This was suppose to be a look-see trip."

"The storm changed it. We can't pass up the chance to harvest the eggs," she said.

"Then take the rest of the potions I got from the outlanders and the zreku oil. They're no good to me if any of you are injured or dead."

Tirenea set aside some for him and took the rest. He also insisted she take the water and food he carried since he could resupply from what was still at the campsite. She gave him a quick hug and disappeared back inside. He looked at the stick and line. About four to five marks he estimated, just before evening when activity in a kwama hive was increasing with returning foragers and more warriors were waking to guard against night predators.

One of his father's caravan guards came from a family that work in domesticated kwama egg mines. According to her, the majority of warrior larvae were identified and killed. Egg miners naturally picked up the hive pheromes in their clothes and skin as they worked and so the remaining warriors scent identified them has hive workers and ignored them. His cousins, lacking that protective hive scent, would be fighting every step against warriors and foragers. The more sensible approach would have been to sneak some clothes in and tack it to a wall in a nest then come back a week later when it had nest scent on it. But leaving this nest a week risked blighted foragers returning and infecting the rest of the colony. It was likely that even after they returned to the tribe, a party would go back to examine the hive to see if a burning was necessary.

Revyn returned to camp and readied his pack in case the worst happened then took it with him back to the ruins and waited.

+—+—+—+—+

The stick's shadow passed the line. No sound from the ruins. Revyn had to force down full meal. Fear and grief could only carry one so far. When the starter fuel faded, there had better be other fuel to sustain the burn. He was packed for a run. Snacks, water, potions, and knife and spear. Everything else had been bundled and buried for later retrieval. If the cousins emerged after he left, they knew where to look for supplies.

A lone warrior approached the ruins. Full chitin armor. The colors its sash and veils marked it an Armiger. He watched it approach. Again, he didn't hide as his cousins would have. "City boy," they would have sadly sighed. Quite true, he didn't entirely share their distrust of Ordinators and Armigers that they had.

"Hello there, youngling," the Armiger called out once within comfortable talking distance. A woman. "What are you doing exploring a ruin by yourself? Surely not. There must be others. Where are they?"

"Hunting for eggs inside," he said truthfully. He pointed at the time stick. "It's past the time they should have come out. I must go back to the family and get help."

"Ah. Revyn, am I correct? The young boy who helped Healer Anna Frostleaf and her party find their way back to Valenvaryon."

"Oh, they made it safely back before the storm? That's good."

"Quite. She was worried about you and since you told her you were going towards this ruin she asked that if I had time on my way to Maar Gan that I check on you."

"Ancestors bless her," he said fervently. He looked at the time stick. "I have to go. Their names are Maludren, Bonsu, Tirenea, and Athikan. Maludren's the oldest and he will soon be sent to help patrol the Ghostfence."

She nodded. "If that's your orders, then Almsivi guide your path. I'll see what I can do and I will stay until you and yours return here." Revyn watched her enter the ruins then he began running.

+—+—+—+—+

The silent week of waiting was misery. He had run the entire night to make it back just after dawn. He'd gasped out the tale to the first guar herder he'd found and collapsed. He'd roused a day-and-a-half later in his grandparents' tent. His father and mother with the caravan guards and parents of his cousins had gone after the party.

Finally, Tirenea's mother ran back with news.

The hive was fat with eggs and their burrowing to expand the nesting area had weakened the floor, which Bonsu and Athikan had discovered by falling through to a lower level. Bonsu had broken his leg in the fall and Athikan cracked his head against the broken edge of the floor, a blow to the head which left him dizzy and uncoordinated, unable to see clearly, and nauseated. Tirenea was left to fend off warriors while Malu, who had been learning the healing arts along with warrior training, treated the two with a combination of potions. He couldn't manage to work up a good spell because he had to frequently stop to help Tirenea as the kwama foragers and warriors ganged up on her.

The Armiger had found them. She had basic healer skills honed in battle situations and was able to get Athikan able to walk on his own without needing to be held. He wasn't fit to fight, but at least he could see where he was going, keep his balance, and able to follow orders. They'd made it most of the way out by the time rescue arrived.

The plan was to stay two days at the campsite while the Armiger and Delore treated Athikan, whose head injury was more of a concern than a simple clean bone break. Eggs were being harvested and packed for transport. Some would bring the injured boys back. Maludren and Tirenea would stay with the rest to continue watch over the kwama nest until they were satisfied it was safe.

By the second week everyone was back. A tenth of the herds had to be slaughtered. The eggs were a welcome addition to their food stores. The nest was deemed safe for now and would be checked on in another two weeks for Blight.

The Armiger had been invited to visit. Her name was Nelthasa Belar and she turned out to be one of the prettiest womer Revyn had ever seen. Indoril, respectful of Ashlander ways, she made a good impression on the family. Malu was smitten. Revyn teased him, but carefully. Malu was acting like a bull guar in early stages of musth and would likely knock him on his ass if he pushed it too far. And Revyn wasn't so far behind, being a little smitten himself. Maybe someday he'd be able to get such a pretty paragon of fierceness and wit and good humor to smile at him, and he'd certainly wouldn't make himself the idiot Malu was being.

But in the ways of a traveling merchant or a tribe, it was time to move on. He asked his cousins for tokens to remember them by since it would be years before he could return. Athikan gave him the head of his spear which had broken when he'd fallen through the floor; Maludren gave him a polished stone with luck characters carved on it that young hunters wore; Tirenea gave him a gold ring with a flat face on which had been hammered the moon-and-stars of Nerevar for hope; and from Bonsu, a blight-moth silk dust veil, fancy enough for city wear, Bonsu had joked, for when the hot winds blow.

Revyn gave his grandparents and his mother a final hug and cheery smile. Knowing some day he'd return gave him the strength to walk away.


	23. Trader or Investor

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

TRADER OR INVESTOR

"Master," Savela poked her head around the cellar door, "Reidar Snowden is here to see you." The cellar also served as Revyn's office where presently he was was working on his correspondence with contacts around Skyrim, Solstheim, and Morrowind.

"Is he? Interesting. Thank you, Savela, I'll be right up." Revyn cleared his desk of the letters, stowing them in a box that he put on a nearby shelf. He pulled out the relevant accounts books and brought them up to the kitchen then went to the main room of his shop to greet Windhelm's chief of tax collections.

"A fine afternoon, Master Snowden," said Revyn, "and unexpected. When you cancelled our original meeting two days ago I expected to be summoned to the palace when you were next available. Are you here to purchase?"

"I don't need these fellows if I'm shopping for a new trinket for my wife," the man said with a small smile of amusement, gesturing at two armored enforcers standing a slight distance behind him.

Revyn shrugged. "The chief of tax collectors wandering anywhere about in the height of tax season always needs protection. But to business then. My books are ready for inspection. If you'll come this way, please."

Snowden had his men remain in the shop while he followed Revyn into the kitchen. "I'm not here for those," he said, nodding at the books. "I've never actually been in your shop, you know, but I've heard many things about the remodel. It's impressive, dammit, which means I have to agree with recent accusations that none of my people know how to properly value your stock or Dunmer craftsmanship."

Revyn didn't like the sound of that. "Accusations? Who would be leveling those charges against you, sir?" he asked. Snowden only shook his head.

"The same fellow who's been questioning the volume of goods you handle. Questioning your trade in other Holds. Questions I've no interest in because, as far as I'm concerned, you pay all the proper tariffs. My office is not concerned with politics or military security, but I have to investigate the charge that you may be making more profit than your shop books account for.

"I personally believe you an honest fellow — as honest as any businessman can be who isn't out to bleed his fellows for every septim — and so had Haknir before me. But, after what little I've seen of your store, I have to agree that my field collectors lack the proper assessment skills. Better to say that than say laxness where the whole of the Gray Quarter is concerned," he grumbled, disgusted.

"I came here to tell you a special assessor will be auditing your business for this year, and for the last three years." The Nord walked a circuit around the room. He came back to Revyn. "The one questioning is Thane Elden Gilder. He's new. A friend of the Jarl's from his days in the Imperial Legion. Gilder is a Cyrodiil-born Nord, educated in finances to Imperial standards, was a career officer in the quartermaster division of the Imperial forces. He decided to spend his remaining years in Skyrim after seeing the way the Dominion is lording it about in the Imperial City. Now he is now the Jarl's war finances advisor.

"Thing is, Sadri, he's heard about . 'Helsette Sadri' is just a bandit hunter and common mercenary. Say 'Helsette Faro' then he's jumping and shouting we're all ignorant fools. He's told the Jarl that the daughter of the Dunmer General Innana Faro, who trained and mentored Tullius at warfare, has been running in and out of city for years now." Snowden paused and glared at him, looking for any reaction. Revyn just shrugged with a look of apology.

"The Jarl is furious. He didn't want to believe it. He's seen her collecting bounties from his steward. The steward and court mage respect her. The guards admire her. He remembers her from the prison cart taking him to Helgen to be executed. Tullius didn't recognize her. But Gilder is staunch in saying she is the daughter of Mede loyalists.

"Charges of treason are being considered. However, the Jarl is too canny to make any sort of permanent example of you despite the strong urgings of his more radical advisors. Other advisors say you have too many friends. Others say we should bleed you for the war chest. And even more say we should use you as the bit to reign in your wife to Stormcloak service.

"That last one is stupid and too dangerous for many reasons. If I had to choose I'd say gold. That special sale you had two years ago of your wife's magical trinkets, when all fines and taxes were summed up and added to your regular taxes for the year, was an amount that would break most of the nobles in the Hold. Truth told, you're one of the Hold's biggest revenue sources.

"They want leverage. Watch yourself. I can't help you beyond this. And I've already said enough that could get me accused of collusion with a suspected traitor."

This time he accepted the wine glass of White Gold Tower Revyn had poured and silently offered him.

"I don't know how long this audit will last but I must also tell you that until this audit is complete you are not to leave the city. Jorden and Garren are also to stay here to see that the only things leaving your store are goods sold from the front counter or that have been ordered and documented before this visit. Expect tomorrow the arrival of Thane Gilder's conscripted assistant, Mage Wuunferth's new apprentice, who will begin evaluating your enchanted stock."

Snowden sipped appreciatively at the wine. "You're taking this better than most," he observed.

On the contrary, shock had pushed Revyn into battle mode. Something his wife teased him about, saying that most people mentally fortifying themselves for battle had that typical grim mask while he, however, in that same state always looked vaguely puzzled as if someone had told him a bad joke. "Not at all. But thank you, serjo. I appreciate you troubling yourself to take the time to tell me of this."

"I owe your wife," Gilder told him. "You don't know it and she probably didn't think it worth mentioning. Two years ago she rescued a pair of travelers, my sister and her husband, on the road to Winterhold. Their horse was injured by an ice wraith nesting in the snow. They were barely fighting it off. The horse's injured screams attracted frost trolls. Your wife was at the Pig Whistle mine and heard the horse too and came running."

"Oh. Well, my thanks just the same."

"Talos guide you, Sadri. I suspect you'll need his help more than Nerevar's."

"Heh," Revyn softly barked appreciatively. Snowden had always been a sharp one when it came to Dunmer. His was one of the oldest family lines in Windhelm and his ancestors were remembered as among the more welcoming and helpful Nord families to the refugees.

Snowden left with Jorden as his escort. Garren nodded respectfully at him before stating, "Don't go anywhere without telling me or Jorden where you're going and when you will return. We're not ordered to track Miss Nethri or to trail after you. Things could change right quick though. We've already permission to do that if we suspect any games. With all respect."

"Thank you," Revyn said, sighing. He gathered up the books and carried them downstairs. A little later Revyn was back to his correspondence. Garren was roaming about in the shop observing Savela and the customers and, between customers, asking Savela about products and what she knew of Revyn's business practices. Revyn had informed her a special audit was being conducted and that she was to cooperate with the auditors. Then, on a quieter level that the human couldn't hear as well, told her to treat them as "especially difficult" customers, keeping answers short and simple, don't offer answers to questions they didn't directly ask, and no second-guessing their intentions because most such customers didn't want to be convinced of anything but their own conclusions. Any questions she deemed intrusive of her or his privacy or strayed off his business practice was to be referred to him.

Back to the letters he had been reading earlier. Half of what he was reading was a relatively harmless mix of personal correspondence and business matters from people and businesses not associated with the Dragonborn. The others were ones he needed to stow in the hidden space in the floor in front of the shrine.

The floor's surface had been laid with colored cement tiles of hexagons and triangles in earthy pastels of red, brown, sand, and green. It made it easier to hide secrets under them. Revyn dragged the Dwemer spider table to a place beside his desk. The six legs were carefully positioned on certain hexagon points and once all six points were simultaneously weighted down the points sank down into the floor and a hexagon slab in front of the shrine rose up.

The sides of the risen slab had finger niches he used to lift the rest of the slab out of the floor. It was thick piece but not particularly heavy. The bottom of the slab was layered with sound dampening cork wood. In the void was a stand of three baskets. He would normally lift out the basket rack to make it easier to work with the scrolls, papers, and books they held but he didn't want to risk the chance of Garren walking in on him so he just dropped the confidential stuff in to sort later. The slab was put back in place. When he moved the spider the slab sank back level with the floor. Tapping for false panels wouldn't find this hiding space or the other which held the treasure chest. He doubted an apprentice would detect the presence of magical items in a chest enchanted against detection by a paranoid mage-lord of the Telvanni.

He went for a late lunch at the Cornerclub with Ambarys and Elani. "Savela tells me you're in some kind of trouble," said Elani. "Tax men taking over your shop."

Revyn explained the situation with Thane Gilder. They agreed the war would get interesting if Stormcloak finances continued to be handled by one with high-level knowledge of how the Imperial's staged resources and financed their armies.

So, the question was did Revyn want to get out now or dig down and wait this out?

It had been a great relief when circumstances had finally forced him to admit to his two closest friends that Helsette was the Dragonborn. Ambarys had been the first to officially know when he'd rescued Revyn from one of the Dragonborn's untrustworthy associates. Elani was officially informed when Ambarys demanded she pay up on the private bet they'd had between them of whether or not Revyn's wife was the Dragonborn.

The Dragonborn businesses he was not worried about. The Whiterun steward and housecarl already handled all that. They'd take over and handle all the others outside of Windhelm as well if he failed to contact them at a pre-set time.

What he needed to discuss with Ambarys and Elani were the recent investments he'd made with them that would definitely bring them to Thane Gilder's attention.

Elani had been working a long time to organize an internal council for the Gray Quarter since the Jarl was not interested in handling legal disputes and Dunmer-on-Dunmer criminal activity in the Quarter. Her Indoril nature was outraged at this chaos and her personal nature demanded an organized house. She'd recruited the Selvaai to her cause, counting on their Redoran nature to enforce order. And up until Elani finally knew his secret, he'd only been able to donate modest funds in keeping with his pose as a merchant of modest means. Once she knew, he'd given her a purse in the thousands, trusting her to find a way to explain the sudden increase of funds to the volunteers managing the informal orphanage that took the sad waifs wandering the Gray Quarter, a food kitchen that fed basic meals to the poorest, and a dispensary of small, basic healing potions and herbs to the same.

The donation was in his books so she could expect some nosy visitors.

Ambarys was a touchier matter. When Ambarys had rescued him some weeks earlier, he had discovered that his friend was an ex-Blade. Not a high ranking one as his duties in the Imperial Legion limited his mobility to perform Blade missions, more midlevel as their ranks went.

Revyn had talked to him about using that experience help him recruit a private security force. Most obvious was hiring a guard for the store. Attempted robberies by Thieves Guild and amateurs were increasing and he thought a visible guard would help discourage the number of clumsy, nuisance attempts. He was also finding a need for armored couriers to deliver expensive goods within the city and to shops and customers in other Holds. He'd had incidents where servants of noble patrons had come to pick up merchandise and then been attacked on their way back. The last straw was when someone tried to rob Savela as she was delivering a jeweled necklace. She'd had her own stop-thief gloves and left the fool paralyzed on the street for others to kick about.

The Cornerclub owner had been amused and suggested Revyn "loan" him a considerable amount to help him make improvements on the club. Skilled workers were expensive, you know. At least that's what it said on paper. Ambarys had always desired to return to Morrowind, but had given up on the dream as finances never seemed to work out that way. So he'd gone about getting building permits soon after Revyn had completed his shop remodel. The amount Revyn gave him was the difference between real cost and inflated cost a Nord could expect for the same work. This was the seed money Ambarys would need to seek out the type of help Revyn wanted.

So if the Nords wanted to investigate him, fine. Formal loan papers had been signed weeks ago. There were witnesses on the loan. Just a contract between businessmen. Revyn had wondered why his friend had wanted to go through all that nonsense, but he could see now the unpleasant encounter with Delphine the Blade had reawakened the hidden Blade in Ambarys.

+—+—+—+—+

Thane Gilder didn't show up until three days later. By then a thorough inventory of Revyn's store and storage had been done. Books and paperwork readied for the thane's inspection. Revyn hadn't needed to do a thing but stay out of the auditors' way.

"Welcome, Thane Gilder, my office is in the cellar. We can go there now or perhaps you would like a look around first?"

"Your books, please." Looked like a Nord, spoke like a Cyrodiil and held himself like a military officer. As they walked downstairs he asked, "Is your wife expected back any time soon?"

"I don't know. She's been working with the Dawnguard lately. Vampire hunters located in the Rift."

"Interesting. Are vampires such a problem then?"

"Yes. A growing one. Riften has had attacks. Whiterun. Morthal. Markarth. More often in the warmer climates. But vampire attacks have been reported outside of Windhelm, just not in the city yet. I've heard guards talking that a week ago they witnessed three Vigilants of Stendarr chasing a vampire right past the bridge."

Thane Gilder made himself comfortable at Revyn's desk and began looking through the summaries his assistants had prepared. Revyn went upstairs then carried down a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of his desk. He waited to be dismissed or told to be seated, but when he wasn't he picked up his letters basket from a shelving nook and took it to the spider table, dragged the table nearer a wall bench, and began reading.

A basket carrying scribe came down accompanied by Jorden who carried a low table and a stool. The scribe set up near the desk. Inkpot, a box of prepared quills, and a stack of blank parchment came out of the basket and the scribe readied himself for work.

"It's time to talk," announced Thane Gilder. Revyn sighed. Now it began.

"It's quite a business you run, sirrah. Over 50 years in Windhelm running this shop and barely scraping by. You marry the spellsword daughter of an Imperial general and for that year the taxes collected from you were five times what you paid the previous year, and exponential since. Furthermore, you've aggressively expanded into Whiterun, Solitude, Markarth, and Morthal. Holds your wife as been made Thane. Thanes of Solitude and Markarth are required to be property holders. Proudspire Manor and Vindrel Hall are not peasant hovels. Yet you live here. Why?"

"My wife is not a thane in Whiterun," Revyn corrected. "And I live here out of habit. I've been waiting for family so long I've settled," Revyn said, shrugging. "Windhelm has still the biggest population of Dunmer in Skyrim."

"She was born in Cheydinhal. The ruling duke is of House Hlaalu and Cheydinhal has the biggest population of Dunmer in Tamriel outside of Morrowind itself."

"True. But what is that to my taxes? I am given to understand that there are questions about the source of my capital. Are there questions you have that my documentation doesn't answer?"

"Your biggest trades are in pro-Imperial Holds or neutral Holds. Why not Stormcloak?"

"Because their liquidity drains to here," Revyn said bluntly. "Businesses and citizens in Stormcloak allied Holds are tax squeezed to support the Stormcloaks. Most of my money in those areas are in long-term investments that I expect to wait 10 to 20 years before they show profit. Elves, you know. I can afford to wait that long."

"So you sell arms and weapons to our enemies."

"Documents show I have sold equal amounts to Stormcloak holds. At a loss if you will note."

"So you sell to both sides. Have you no honor?"

"I consider myself politically neutral and so I do not think my honor compromised."

"Your wife is of the Felix family who have been loyal to the Medes since the beginning. Her mother is one of Mede's oldest and strongest generals." Revyn said nothing, merely tilting his head as if waiting for another question. "Why is she here in Skyrim and not with her mother carrying on the proud family tradition of military service?"

"I fail to see the connection to my business practices."

"Businesses you didn't have until you married her."

"I gladly admit I'd be nothing without her."

"Her Imperial fortune you mean."

"If you will review my records you will see that any monies used for investments, anything purchased is derived from profits made selling items my wife has supplied me for sale or from coins she received for sword and spell services."

This went on for hours and the only respite was when the scribe needed more parchment or needed to shake out his hand for cramping. Thane Gilder may have only been a year in Skyrim yet he knew an uncomfortable amount about Revyn's investments and Helsette Faro's activities in the province. A case of the Stormcloaks not really knowing how much they knew until someone who knew what they were doing was looking for it. The man was chasing rumors but had yet to throw at Revyn any significant number of solid evidence, which was why, at the end of the day, Gilder had his men pack Revyn's books to bring to the Palace where he could begin to plot some real fact-finding missions.

The warhammer had been hoisted. The first crackdown was that Revyn choose between temporarily accepting a clerk spy who would handle all business books and correspondence or closing his shop, until the audit was over.

Revyn would rather have closed the shop but he didn't want the Whiterun contingency to take over because Thane Gilder would certainly be checking on the status of the outside businesses. And when he discovered the Dragonborn's Whiterun steward had taken over... Revyn wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. He agreed to Gilder's spy.

When Gilder was gone, he closed the shop and withdrew to the cellar. He threw a cushion down before the Waiting Door and knelt, running through the rituals to invoke the Ancestors and thereby relaxing into a meditative state. He wasn't seeking anything in particular, just letting his thoughts and emotions drift. Sharing life. He could feel the Ancestors gathering about. Nothing was said, just comforting presences.

After a while each side withdrew and Revyn slowly stretched, feeling much better. Then he felt the Others that had hovered just beyond the Ancestors. These were Nord ghosts he'd picked up from that misadventure with Delphine the Blade. Six of them who had self-attached to a stone he safeguarded from Delphine. They were warriors from a time when Windhelm once had alliance with Dunmer and Argonian and the three allies had called themselves the Ebonheart Pact.

Now one of the ghosts gave him it's name. Játgeirr Snowden. With the name came a sense of the man he'd been. Játgeirr had lived in the Snow Quarter and had been a dock laborer. Picked up a shield and spear when the Akavir came, fought and managed to escape the sacking and burning of Windhelm, had fled to Morrowind with the Skald-King, had fought until too injured to fight further. When the Dunmer mage-priests called for volunteers for their magic to create spirit guardians, he'd offered himself because his spirit was still willing where his flesh could not. No one likes tax men, but it was duty. It pleased him that Revyn held no animosity towards his descendant.

+—+—+—+—+

He extracted promises from the Selvaai and from Savela that they would treat their unwanted guest with courtesy no matter how obnoxious they might turn out to be. The Selvaai said they would find temporary lodgings elsewhere if it got too bad and Revyn promised Savela paid leave if she couldn't stand the spy. And she needn't feel guilty about leaving Revyn in the shop alone; he wasn't allowed to go anywhere anyway.

As circumstances dictated, Thane Gilder's office was too new to have many on staff. All he had were assistants he'd brought from Cyrodiil, all of whom were sent out to other Holds to conduct investigations. So for the spy he'd had to rely on Snowden's people. As a show cooperation, Snowden assigned his own right-hand assistant, and eldest daughter, Herja Snowden. Lovely child, excellent with numbers, able to maintain control when confronted by raging, screaming nobles disputing their tax bill, and apologetic about her spy duties. She promised to be as discreet as possible as a six-foot, blue-eyed, white-haired Nord could be in the Gray Quarter.

He showed her the room she would stay in and gave her a tour around the living quarters and shop, ending at his desk in the cellar. "Go a head and poke around, get familiar where all the books and tools are. Settle them about as suits you. When you're ready, bring that basket over there up to the kitchen. Those are matters I haven't touched since ordered not to until your arrival. We'll sort out business from personal and then you can start reading and getting familiar with my business contacts."

He poured himself a cup of tea and went to join Savela to wait on customers.


	24. Trader or Investor, Pt2

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

TRADER OR INVESTOR, Pt. 2

Sadri's Used Wares was still open for sales and purchases despite the Stormcloak raid earlier last week. Due to security concerns, all armor and weapons, both commercial and personal, had been seized from the property and declared forfeit. Seized goods were to be distributed to appropriate Stormcloak forces or auctioned and profits to benefit the general war chest. Plenty of enchanted trinkets still available although at slightly higher prices.

And even then Revyn ate most the taxes instead of passing it onto customers so he was selling at a loss. He still smiled as he handed over a gold and emerald necklace to the buyer at 50 septims below original purchase cost and after totally discounting the added value of the health enchantment. He didn't bother denying the boor's charge that he'd inflated the price due to the taxes everyone knew he'd been hit with.

Standing as guards inside the store were Melynis and Lady Karis who also had had their personal weapons and armors stolen. Their grim faces warned off many troublemakers. Those still stupid enough to start anything found out their skill at wielding broomsticks and rolling pins. One notable fool who'd dared loose his greatsword inside the shop had been carried off by city guards to the Temple of Talos for healing; his armor no match for rolling pins and meat carving forks. Volunteer Dunmer guardsmen stood outside the store and patrolled the immediate area. To ensure they didn't spook the increased Nord patrols the Dunmer didn't even carry personal daggers but followed the Selvaai example of broomsticks or canes of wood or bonemold.

The increased security had the unusual effect of encouraging more Nords to enter the Gray Quarter. The draw, of course, being Sadri's. The shop was quite busy with the influx of customers coming just for the scandal factor and he'd made sure they had a show. He temporarily sent his apprentice Savela away to her aunt's farm for his peace of mind and for her safety. Then he'd asked Elani to help him and she filled the empty weapons racks and mannequins with capes, gowns, shirts, and purses fashion from sturdy blight-moth silk; brought in household items fashioned of chitin and bonemold, useful, ornamental, either or both; and artwork — all distinctly Dunmer and created by refugees.

Orthos of the East Empire Company sent Tony Scarpelli to assist him. Tony had recently returned from his temporary internship on Solstheim and had brought many unique items from there to sell. In fact, one entire wall was a designated East Empire showcase of items they would be importing from Solstheim through the Windhelm port. A not-so-subtle boast of the taxes, coins, and jobs that would not have been available if a certain Dunmer mercenary hadn't help get rid of a pirate problem and her husband hadn't persuaded the Dunmer of Solstheim to cooperate with the East Empire.

Then, after a full day of sales, nosy questions, challenges, and insults, Revyn spent hours after closing with Herja Snowden, the assigned, live-in auditor. "Now this matter about Ralis Sedarys," said Herja, "He's not a store employee but he claims a lot of money before taxes. Is he an investor? An employee? Here are notations showing you invested in a project of his."

"Technically, he's an indentured servant to my wife," said Revyn. He poured himself another cup of tea. They were in the cellar. Herja hard at work at his desk and he lounged before the desk on a chair and his legs propped up on a Dwemer spider table on which he'd placed a cushion. "We did initially sink 11,000 septims into a barrow dig he had on Solstheim, but that ended in a disaster." He explained the details of the financial arrangement with Raven Rock and House Redoran.

"You pay his equipment and travel and food expenses — I don't see the notes for that."

"Um, we've covered that under my wife's miscellaneous adventurer's budget."

Herja frowned and scribbled a while in her report sheet. Herja wasn't the worst part of this trial. While she was a meticulous fact-finder, she had no political agenda and stuck to facts, which were damning enough in the hands of her superior, Thane Gilder.

This new thane had recognized his wife's famous family thanks to his years serving in the Quartermasters Division of the Imperial Forces. Now everyone knew who her mother was and that her father was part of a family that had helped the Medes to the Ruby Throne. He seemed determined to make it clear what kind of danger Helsette Faro was to the Stormcloak cause.

Revyn blamed himself for this mess. He'd been too afraid and insecure to push his young bride on information about her family. She'd been so reticent. He didn't believe it was any fear of abuse from them, he knew she was protecting something, but so many in the Gray Quarter would not speak of family. Ordinators, Armigers, Morag Tong, slavers... So many willingly or unwillingly leaving their past behind. All he could do was ask then respect the request for privacy. But he should have pushed harder. She was his wife. He should have pushed. If he had known, he would have insisted she adventure under his name of Sadri and not Faro, as egotistically distasteful as it might have seemed then, because no one would ever think a shopkeeper's wife had an army potentially poised to strike if she fell. But her reticence was still not the worst crime here. He had her name of Faro. He had contacts in Cheydinhal and knew people who had family in Cheydinhal that he could have asked for gossip. He could have easily found out about the whole Faro-Felix scandal and marriage if he'd done due diligence, and made himself more aware of the world her family lived in.

He had eventually coaxed the information that her parents were high up in the Imperial military hierarchy and yet he still hadn't done anything besides some passive letters of introduction. That was because he was too embarrassed to face her kin; afraid of their reaction to his age. It wasn't until the Councilors of Raven Rock had slapped him upside the head with the results of their own research that he'd been forced to realize he couldn't shamefully continue to ignore her family and that he needed to step up his political gamesmanship. The Councilors were already protecting their newest House member and disassociating the Dragonborn legend from Helsette Faro — sure, she'd been seen killing dragons but it was a demon calling itself Miraak that appeared and absorbed the dragon souls for some evil they couldn't fathom. Solstheim may be far removed from the centers of power but they kept watch — as he should have been doing.

Herja muttered and scowled as she tried to make sense of his Solstheim accounts. Difficult because she was learning Dunmer exchange rates on the fly. The time between her questions gave Revyn space to read over personal correspondence and to review questions and pen replies to Free-Winter who was chief among those Nords defending him in the Court.

+—+—+—+—+

"What in Oblivion is going on, cousin?" Little Nicky demanded loudly as soon as Revyn had walked into the taproom. "Little Nicky" was his wife's cousin, a stout fellow in the wolf armor of the Companions of Jorrvaskr, the paragons of all things Nord. There were a number of guardsmen about, seemingly off duty and drinking. "I went to the Palace to tell them the Companions had completed the job they'd hired us for. I say I'm looking forward to having a drink with my cousins. Who's my cousin? Faro? I'm practically accused of treason — me, a Companion — and then I'm told you've been cheating on your taxes!"

"You don't listen very well, do you?" Revyn observed.

"I try not to listen to stupidity. I can manage stupid on my own. Now tell me what's going on."

"One, a charge of treason has not been made. There is some question of loyalty now that the Jarl is aware of Helsette's parentage. But it is not treason," Revyn repeated stubbornly, automatically. "By the way, congratulations on graduating from the ranks of the puppies."

Little Nicky made a sound of disgust. "Alright, alright. But what's this about not paying taxes? What is that?"

"The invention of new tax laws," Revyn said glumly. "At least in Skyrim. Thane Gilder's importing tax concepts from Cyrodiil and some of those sound Altmer in origin. The never-ending civil projects. Don't underestimate the effectiveness of an 'audit' to inflict terror and enforce domination. And as a anti-race mongering tactic goes, it's effective. Tricksy, lazy, ungrateful dark elves of the Gray Quarter cheating the hardworking Nords. Make your first example from them. Introduce your new tax laws and handily demonstrate the consequences for resistance. Next season's tax haul should be very, very good. "

"Who is this Thane Gilder?"

"An ex-officer from the Quartermaster Division."

"Aw, hell. So the Stormcloaks have decided to join the Imperial Legions after all."

Low snarls from listening Stormcloaks. The young Imperial pointedly ignored them. "I suppose he's the one who ratted out who my cousin's parents are, right? Implied she's General Tullius's secret spy. And while she's doing that, she may as well protect Stormcloak holdings from robbers, vampires, and skooma dealers, right? Bet he claimed that if something happened to her her mother would jump on Windhelm like a skooma-enraged sabre cat. He's blowing smoke. One, no way she'd take any of the Third from cat-watching. Two, General Tullius knows better than to use any child of that half of the family because they're all crazy. I mean, you've met Taliesin, for gods sakes. And you married my cousin.

"Speaking of crazy, why isn't my cousin here?"

"An you imply you're the sane family member." Revyn sighed. "I asked her to stay away. This is not a fight she needs to be directly involved in and I wanted to avoid her physical confrontations with idiots. How long are you staying, Nicky?" he abruptly asked.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow morning to report back to Whiterun. Something you need me to do?"

"Well, I've two bottles of 200-year-old Cyrodilic Brandy, a small box of Skaal Icefire tea, and a case of Ashfire mead just in from Solstheim, special orders by the Dragonborn. If you would deliver it to her residence, I'd be grateful. No sampling."

"Crap. Tempt a guy, will you? Okay. That it?"

"If you would, please, track my wife down. Taliesin's last letter was that she was in The Rift doing escort work. General Galmar has a project for her that I think she should agree to. He promises that if she does the job quickly enough she won't risk confronting Legionnaires. He wants her to go to an ancient crypt and find some artifact from the First Empire. If you'll do that and take over her escort contract, I'll send the fee to the Companions first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okaaay," Little Nicky said thoughtfully. "I hate escort work, but, yeah, I'll do it. You want me to send her to report to Galmar here?"

"No. I'm sure Vignar Graymane can tell you where the crypt is."

"How... Nevermind. Hell, I'd sooner eat chaurus egg pie than talk to Vignar." He sighed. "You're as crazy as your wife," he stated.

+—+—+—+—+

Herja was in bed. Little Nicky was staying at the new rooms in the Cornerclub. Revyn was sitting before the Waiting Door and rereading the letter from Taliesin. The mage had returned from Solstheim two weeks after Revyn had. By that time Revyn had been having his misadventure with Delphine the Blade and Taliesin couldn't wait for his return. He'd left the letter which essentially said he was going to The Rift to await his parents at Stonefalls; they were finally getting close to Skyrim's border and, if their latest schedule held true, they would have arrived at Windhelm in three weeks.

Sadly, another delay was inevitable if all parties cooperated.

Little Nicky would deliver the shipment to Breezehome. Ashfire Mead was a code phrase for an emergency. The steward there would immediately open the crate and find his note therein and she'd pass on his instruction to Helsette to make more public appearances as the Dragonborn. Little Nicky would collect Helsette's spare chitin armor and weapons and, accompanied by Ralis, would do some hard riding to intercept Taliesin and his parents.

The rest was up to General Faro and Ralis to complete the Korvanjund mission and to the Felix men to get the dirt on Thane Gilder. Just as Gilder was auditing him, he would trade in kind. All his instincts were telling him the man was the hidden knife of enemies unseen. He'd need solid proof for the Jarl that Gilder's loyalties weren't altogether with the Stormcloaks.

He'd done what he could for the moment. Now all he could do is pull on the goggles and wrap the veils tighter against the Blight ash storm and hope he had the resources to wait it out.


	25. Trader or Investor, Pt3

_AuroraNova : Full debriefing required very soon ;)_

 _WilSquare : Thanks. Hope the rest doesn't disappoint._

 _GalacticHafling : Weird thing is when I was thinking about this story is "what are the tax laws in the middle ages?" (Although Tamriel seems a weird range of middle ages to renaissance.) Plus, I read somewhere it's "Guilty until proven innocent." Oh, well. Onto the next part of the play of an irritated merchant scheming to get his pound of flesh._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

TRADER OR INVESTOR, PT.3

The Vici-Snowshod wedding went off without a hitch. The priest wed them, Vittoria made her speech of welcome and her hope for a unified Skyrim, and Asgeir's repeated his wife's hope and ended with an invitation to the feast set out in the Castle Dour courtyard.

When evening came they withdrew from the public to Proudspire Manor where the absent Thane Faro of Solitude had graciously allowed them to hold their private reception since Vici's own manor was stuffed with her personal guests and Asgeir's family. Not that the manor was unoccupied, the mysterious thane's husband was in town for the wedding and staying with him were business associates that he and Vittoria were to meet with tomorrow.

Revyn was obliged as the Thane's husband, and therefore host, to stand with Vittoria and Asgeir to receive guests. He had tried to decline the honor but they insisted. Everyone wanted to meet Thane Faro's husband. "Jarl Elisif, welcome. No, my jarl, I have no idea where my wife is at the moment. Madam Ambassador, how gracious. Thane Bryling and Thane Erikur, honored." And so it went, dressed in Radiant Rainment's finest bought at the last minute and selling it. He'd rather be over with Orthus and Razelan who were chatting with Avenicci from Whiterun or introducing Councilor Morvayn to the proper parties. The councilor had been unexpected and he wasn't coming as the ruler of Solstheim but as a Razelan's "business associate." Garren, Revyn's "assistant" and spy from Windhelm's tax office, was having a good time at the food tables picking through rich and exotic delicacies regular folk like him rarely had access to.

The reception duty was mercifully over and Revyn snagged a wineglass from a server. He glanced around. Maven Black-Briar had cornered Morvayn. He wound his way over, careful not to draw Maven's attention so that he could listen in. She was flirting with the councilor while trying to draw out more information about Solstheim's wealth and future plans with the East Empire Company. Before the reception began she'd cornered Revyn to inquire about Thane Gilder. She'd heard about Revyn's latest troubles and that Gilder was now living in Windhelm. During her gloating she'd mentioned she knew Gilder from his days in the Quartermaster Office of the Legion. Revyn would make sure Garren's reports to Gilder would include the note that Maven says "hello." Jarl Elisif caught his eye and lifted her chin, an invitation. He passed behind the councilor, murmering loud enough for Dunmer ears, "If she were Dres, she would be the pride of the House." Morvayn made the mistake of laughing and Maven, thinking he'd agreed to something she'd said, smiled and moved in closer. Revyn hesitated, wondering if he should do a rescue, but saw that Morvayn, after the briefest pause of astonishment, was smiling and game for action. Thank the gods he came instead of sending Arano. That one would have embarrassed everybody by loudly declaring he was married.

A couple hours later he and Garren escaped out the basement door needing to get away from all the probing questions. Most in there were Solitude nobles and quite curious about the dark elf the Jarl had appointed to their exalted ranks. A wandering mercenary delivering a case of alcohol to Falk Firebeard. She did some mysterious job neither the Jarl nor the steward would talk about. She did bounty work. The Master of the Bards College credited her with restarting the Burning of King Olaf Festival. And suddenly she was the newest thane with wealth to buy the finest manor in the city. She never attended social events, preferring the common crowd.

"With the way Snowshod is downing the mead, I can't imagine he'll be in any condition to conduct business tomorrow," said Garren.

"I think he'll be sober enough. But likely it will be Vittoria leading the discussion. Did you read Herja's notes on Dunmer exchange rates? Razelan and Morvayn will be representing Solstheim's and House Redoran's interests."

"And you represent..."

"Mine and my wife's. Peripheral interests. My attendance is a courtesy and not mandatory to this meeting, especially as Orthos, Morvayn, and Tony know you aren't really my employee as we've let Vittoria and Asgeir think. I'm just there to listen and to given opinions, but only if asked. You, however, should not speak at all. Orthos and Morvayn will not hesitate to ask us to leave. If you are confused by something or need clarification, ask me afterwards and I promise to answer if the answer is relevant to my finances."

"No problem. Snowden was quite clear on what I was to keep track of. Anything outside of that is for Gilder's own spies to dig out."

"Very good. Would you be game to quickly visiting Castle Dour?"

"Castle... You want to visit the Legion headquarters?"

"Yes. Now seems the opportune time. General Tullius is a friend of the Faro family. My wife has avoided him so as not to appear to favor the Legion while she lives in Windhelm. Even more so after she became Thane here; a promotion he is sure to have not missed. But Gilder and the Jarl believe otherwise so I see no reason not to meet the man."

Garren was agreeable and they walked brisky back towards Castle Dour. The courtyard was still full of people enjoying the feast but now off-duty soldiers and guards replaced most of the civilians. They didn't have to wait long at the door before a junior officer escorted them inside to the general's war room. The human was around 60, old for their kind, but still sharp-eyed and full of restless, coiled energy. Gray eyes studied Revyn after having dismissed Garren as of no relevance.

"If you managed to attract and keep a Faro, then there's more to you than what I'm seeing," the general growled.

"Greeting, General Tullius," said Revyn, bowing slightly. "I don't have much time — I have to return to Vici's reception — but I wanted to introduce myself and extend my wife's heartfelt apologies for avoiding you."

"I didn't recognize her in Helgen," the general admitted. "She was barely knee-high when I last saw her. The officer in charge of executions did not inform me of her name. Even so, I know she has reasons to avoid me. And I know she's not with the Stormcloaks even if she chooses to primarily live in Windhelm."

"My beloved feels neutrality allows her more freedom to do what she needs. And right now she needs you to avoid Korvanjund. I'm sure your people have informed you that the Stormcloaks are looking for something there. I'm also sure you know what trouble I'm in. They've obliged my wife to do their work there and I would appreciate it if you don't force her to kill Legionnaires over some meaningless, vainglorious token of bones and teeth."

The general scowled but was silent. After a moment, without taking his eyes off Revyn, he raised his voice and said, "Withdraw immediately from Korvanjund. Allow the Stormcloaks to work and leave unhindered."

"But general—" a woman from a shadowed archway protested.

"Do it, Legate!"

"At once, sir."

"Very well. Any other place I should be withdrawing troops from?" he asked in a dry, mockingly polite tone.

"No, that will be sufficient. My thanks."

"This only works once, you know."

"Once should be enough. Thank you, general. Also, one more imposition if I may?"

"Why not? I've enough spies asking if you're on my payroll."

"Oh. Ah, I was wondering if you were acquainted with Quartermaster Elden Gilder of the division in Cyrodiil."

"Personally? No. And now, perhaps, you can do something for me?"

"If it's within my current limitations, certainly."

"I'm well aware of your current limitations." The general's eyes flicked over Garren who merely smiled. This was going to make a great story to tell Herja. "Tell your runaway wife to write her parents so that I don't have to waste resources keeping track of her. I'd like to get Inanna and Tony off my back and it shouldn't be my job to keep track of their wild brat. I do have a rebellion I need to settle here, you know.

"Now, I think we're done here." The general went back to reading reports and the junior officer appeared to escort them out.

As they left the Castle Dour courtyard a ragged creature flung itself at Revyn. "Please! You must help me!"

"Off with you!" Garren barked, moving quickly to pull the beggar off Revyn.

"You help people. That's what you do, isn't it?" the beggar pleaded, eyes locked on Revyn. "Please! He's been gone so long."

"He's harmless, Garren. Let him go."

The beggar shoved a hipbone into Revyn's hands and begged him to go to the Pelagious Wing of the Blue Palace, find his master, and talk him into giving up his vacation. Then the beggar fled into the crowd and the darkness.

The bone seemed ordinary. And the Pelagius Wing? Haunted and closed off for for some time if he remembered the rumors correctly.

Vittoria, Orthos, Razelan, Morvayn, and Revyn went to the Blue Palace the morning after the wedding for the scheduled meeting with Firebeard and Thane Erikur to discuss the possibility of shifting or splitting some of the East Empire's Solstheim trade from Windhelm's port to Solitude's. Revyn wasn't actually needed here, but Morvayn had asked him to come as his advisor. Revyn was also asked by Orthos to represent the general opinion of Windhelm's merchant class and as Solstheim's current resource for migrants between Raven Rock and the Gray Quarter. Tony and Garren sat along the wall with the other clerks diligently recording the meeting.

During one of the breaks in the meeting, Firebeard pulled Revyn aside. Avenicci had told him that Whiterun has had people prying into Revyn's and Faro's business affairs, trying to gauge wealth and political influence; he thought Firebeard should know since Faro was Thane here and asked if Firebeard had heard any of the same. The Windstadt steward and it's business manager also sent him similar warnings. Revyn confessed he was being investigated in Windhelm for possible tax fraud with further implications that his wife was spying for the Empire because her family were Mede loyalists. While Firebeard mulled that over, Revyn asked him about the Pelagius Wing.

Closed off since the death of the mad emperor on the Isle of Bretony off Daggerfall. Shortly after the news of his death arrived in Solitude, the Wing started being haunted. Horrible visions, feelings of anger, paranoia, disorientation, and shadows. Nothing the court mages or any of the priests in the city could do. Palace maids reluctantly go in once a year to clean out spider nests; they run in, shriek a bit, smash nests with shovels, run out, and then ask for the rest of the day off. Sybil Stentor, it's said, once went in and promptly came out stating that burning that entire wing of the palace down was the only solution she could think of.

But, if Revyn insisted on going in there, here was the key. Was it that easy? Well, Firebeard assumed that Revyn, like his wife, had a way with ghosts, necromancers, and dead things. Wasn't that the Dunmer religion?

Garren flatly refused to go in. The two maids, Una and Erdi, primarily tasked with that once-a-year spider hunt had heard the thane's husband was going in. Garren flirted with them and they told their stories about what they heard and saw and felt when in that place and Garran shared with them the stories around Windhelm of a haunted shop and a haunted museum. Revyn didn't come out until midnight had passed. He was looking washed out, leaning heavily on a staff and dragging what looked like a silver and crystal greatsword.

Garren helped him to a chair, noticing the mer had a huge bruise spreading and swelling across his left cheek and jaw, Una ran to fetch him some wine, and Edli was upset becaused because the greatsword had gouged a deep rut in the marble floor. "Are you all right, sir?" Garren asked.

"Oh, fine. I interrupted teatime between two insane nobles, played their mind games, and persuaded the Prince of Madness to end his vacation. On my way out, the Prince of Order appeared, tapped me, complained that he'd just got his house perfecty in order and now it was going to go all downhill again, and then gave me his sword to hold for him because a sword's useless against incipient madness."

"Um, yessir, right. Let's get you home and in bed. It's been a trying day."


	26. Trader or Investor, Pt4

_**Aurora Nova**_ _: In this version Uncle Sheo never got any takers. Jyggalag took over and Sheo's been on "vacation" since then. But, Yin/Yang, Revyn just kickstarted the cycle to begin again. Hm, if Jyggalag's advance is the Gray March, what's Sheogorath's? The Frenetic Fandango? The Psychosis Slide?_

 _ **Galactic Hafling**_ _: Something of social coupe to have her reception at Proudspire and a bonus to drag into Society the husband of the newest thane._

A/N: reminder, see  wiki/Lore:Legal_Basics, "...the Tamriel legal system has its basis in the civilized, reasonable credo uttered by the prophet Marukh in the first era: 'All are guilty until they have proven themselves innocent.'" So, burden of proof is on the defendant.

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

TRADER OR INVESTOR, PT.4 (v.2)

"Right now it's an impasse," said Brunwulf Free-Winter, "We've been able to successfully argue that much of what he's convicted you of are the discrepancies of accounting practices between countries and Holds that the new rules and laws he's brought in do not properly allow for. Also, that these new rules and regulations used for his base of accusations have never been part of the general tax laws of Skyrim, much less Windhelm. Common in Cyrodiil and parts of the Empire they may be, but not Skyrim.

"And to give credit, so far Ulfric has been willing to listen to our reasons. As for the charge of cooperation with the Imperials, well, he has not outright dismissed the reasons you presented on your wife's behalf of why she has not become thane of any allied Holds."

"A small blessing," said Revyn.

"The list of missions your wife is engaged in, that has impressed many in the court as well." Brunwulf paced around the cellar and stopped before the furnace, looking at it but not seeing it. "Especially the vampires. Your Dawnguard friend, Gunmar, made quite an impression. So has the Imperial cousin who is a full Companion at such a young age.

"The sticking point comes again to the matter of being a Thane. She will defend her Hold capital if it is attacked, yes?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"Meaning she'll take her sword against Stormcloaks if they invade. One argues that the reason she won't become thane of The Rift, Dawnstar, Winterhold, or Windhelm is that she won't raise her sword against the Legion." He looked at Revyn. "Can you deny that?" Revyn shook his head. "And so she stands with the Empire."

"So Gilder implies but dares not call her traitor to her face. And me he convicts of tax fraud." Revyn refreshed both their cups of Glade Special tea. "Any penalties assessed, I would argue, has already been taken in stock seized from my store. And furthermore, conscripting my wife to perform missions is also payment. If this were all he's obsessed about, I would concede guilt and surrender the rest of my stock in exchange for my freedom.

"But my wife. I have to question why Thane Gilder is so determined to prove my wife a danger. To me it seems he has argument with General Faro and seeks to strike at her through her child with me as the most convenient hold he has."

"What grounds do you have for that countercharge?" Brunwulf was scowling furiously. He was by no means an idiot but like many warriors he preferred clear, straight lines of action rather than the twisting, hidden attacks of tricksters. He detested the verbal sparring of law and politics but here he was leading the fight in court to overturn a conviction. It had been a surprise to the Jarl and Gilder how many respected citizens of Windhelm like Brunwulf and even some high-ranked Stormcloaks were stepping forward in defense of a Dunmer shopkeeper.

"Nothing solid," Revyn admitted, "only personal statements from Taliesin and Nicky that their family is closely monitored by enemies who regularly try to entrap them."

"Hinting that Gilder is sleeping with the Thalmor is dangerous," said Brunwulf, "and you're right not to bring that up."

"I didn't say—"

"And you're right about the seized property and service," he said thoughtfully, ignoring Revyn's protest. "The investigation by Snowden's people has been yielding up proof of your innocence as well as unpleasant — unpleasant to many opponents — of how valuable you are to Windhelm's purse. You and the East Empire are bringing in trade to Windhelm's ports. And your warnings from your recent trip to Solitude that we we'll lose trade to Solitude's ports if Stormcloaks don't ease up on certain restrictions, that has pushed many of those on the fence to urge the Jarl to overturn your conviction. Not something he finds easy to do because he must then convict his new thane for slander at the very least. A great embarrassment.

"I have court next week. Enough time, I think, to build those arguments that I can push. Whatever petty grudge Thane Gilder has — which we can't accuse him of without proof — is a private matter not worth what we lose in coin and resources if we drive you out of Windhelm."

They went upstairs to the kitchen. Councilor Morvayn of Raven Rock was there relaxing by the hearth fire and sipping a teacup of mulled wine while he read the book, the _Five Songs of King Wulfharth_. The book series, _Songs of the Return_ , lay in waiting to be next read. Books he'd bought to study the Nord's unique view of history. He would be leaving at the end of the week but for now he was staying in Revyn's master bedroom while Revyn had a bedroll in his cellar office.

Revyn introduced them and was pleased to see them taking to each other. He left them to chat while he went to his shop to see if the customer with his wife's favor ring had returned.

"Ah, haven't seen those in some months. Those are tokens my wife hands out to certain people in exchange for favors or help they've given her," he'd explained to Herja when she'd showed him the ring this morning. "It does entitle them to a one-time fifty percent discount on any and all merchandise in stock on the day they come in."

"Ledgers I've not seen," said Herja, reprovingly. "Is this unique to your shop or does it apply to any of your business partners?"

"My shop. They have to come here to claim the discount. And their purchases show up on my regular daily ledgers as discounted loss leader sales. The related ledger merely tracks who received the assigned number." He showed them the niche in the back wall where he kept the thin ledgers. "Oh," he said, reading the name and note his wife had scrawled in. "Jarlan, a family friend. Ah, well, when he comes in, find me immediately."

"There you are," said Elani. "You just missed our ring friend. Here, I'll go fetch him since he's at the Cornerclub."

"This other ledger with the dragon design — another ring with numbers," Herja asked, holding up a second book.

"Same." He shrugged. "Different crafters." True, but not exactly just that reason. The scales were if his wife at the time was Faro-the-mercenary and the dragon if she was Felix-the-Dragonborn.

The ring bearer was a middle aged Nord wearing the hides of a trapper and he had a bundle of fine furs that Revyn could see Elani was itching to get at as they would make wonderful coats and capes. "Jarlan, then? Welcome. How can I help you?" asked Revyn.

"Well, it's a touchy matter," the Nord drawled. "Erm, can we speak private-like?" he asked, glancing a Elani and Herja. "Got a young lass I fancy and heard you—"

"Right this way, please." Herja and Elani at least waited until he closed the kitchen door before they started laughing.

"Ah, now, to clarify, I don't—"

"Howdy, sirs," the trapper said to Brunwulf and Morvayn. The two merely nodded back and looked at Revyn.

"Just clearing a misunderstanding," said Revyn. He turned back to the trapper. "Now, I don't—"

"Privacy, sir. General Jarlan Tullius sent me," the Nord hissed, leaning close to Revyn so as not to be overheard by Morvayn's Dunmer ears.

"Oh," said Revyn, stepping back and holding his hands up, palms out in a "stop" gesture. "A moment."

"Brunwulf, forgive me, but I do need to confess something."

"Should I leave?" asked Morvayn, arching an eyebrow.

"Actually, no, if you please. Perhaps your impression and insight as the ruling councilor of Solstheim would help in the legal trouble I'm in. Purely as a disinterested third-party."

"Hardly disinterested, but do go on," Morvayn invited.

"Brunwulf, as I was saying, I need to confess. While I was in Solitude I did slip away from the wedding reception to visit General Tullius to ask him to withdraw Legionnaires from Korvanjund."

Brunwulf grunted and set down the teacup. If it had been one of the fussy, delicate kind it would have been shattered, but since it was of carved marble and without any delicate handle, wine just sloshed out of it from impact. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Thanks to Gilder everyone knows Tullius trained under my wife's mother. Garren was with me so if needed he can attest we spoke nothing of Stormcloak secrets. I asked the General to withdraw Legionnaires from Korvanjund so that my wife would not be obliged to kill them. He did. I also asked him if he knew Gilder. He did not. He has, however, sent this gentleman."

The disguised Nord Legionnaire scowled at him briefly. "Name's Brennan," he said, curtly. "The general says you needed information on retired quartermaster Elden Gilder. I worked with Gilder as his assistant the last five years before his retirement ten years ago. While I can't disclose specifics on Legion matters, I'll try to answer any questions you have about the man himself."

"Ah. The general said he didn't know Gilder," said Revyn.

"He doesn't. He called in his quartermaster of the Second and asked if anyone on her staff knew Gilder. I said I did and I was ordered to report to you. I can only stay here another day before I have to start traveling back."

"I see. Is the name Maven Black-Briar familiar? Maven was at the wedding and she made a point of saying she knew Gilder and asked me to pass on her greetings," he explained to Brunwulf and Morvayn.

"Gilder primarily worked on logistics for cohorts and legions. Logistics for covert operations is another department of the division and one, at least during the time I assisted him, he was not a part of. Black-Briar is covert operations."

"What is your overall impression of the man?" asked Brunwulf.

"Overtly competent. To peers, cooperative and mildly competitive but not enough to garner resentment. Accommodating to superiors. To inferiors cold, given to over-instruction. Easily upset if instructions aren't carried out or changes made without his knowledge or approval.

"I personally didn't think much of him. I prefer team planning and execution rather than relying on a single focal point to support our forces. I would know the name, numbers, and location but no assistant of his knew what plans we were suppose to be providing support to. We were left to make our own deductions from the orders we were given. It made us look like idiots when other peer logistic teams asked for data and all we could say is we'd have to ask Gilder first because none of us has a clue what our team was suppose to be doing."

"I see. His personal relations, lovers, children, friends?"

"I would hear him at unavoidable social gatherings sympathizing with other officers on personal relations. If someone was complaining about how unsupportive his wife was, he'd say his own lover was equally unsupportive. If another elatedly announced her husband landed a lucrative contract, his own love was suddenly a surprising success at her own venture. And so on. His personal life, as told by him, was amazingly flexible as circumstances require.

"Do you think he's the type to carry grudges to the point of attacking the family of his target?"

The man considered this. "No," he said finally. "If you're a subordinate and you make a mistake, he'll never let you forget it. But taking it out on others, no. And as far as I'm aware, General Faro is not one he's worked closely with. Quartermaster Ayrdale handles affairs for the Third as he's had for the past 20 years."

"What do you know of his military record?"

"Sent to the Quartermasters Division when the Eastmarch and The Rift division of Skyrim joined the battle, him along with two others representing Whiterun, Falkreath, Hjaalmarch, The Pale, and Haafingar. Was in the thick of fighting and captured when the Dominion overran the Imperial City; released when the Dominion withdrew and the Emperor returned. After the War, he was the only one who stayed as Skyrim's forces returned home."

There were a few more questions and when it was done Revyn escorted the Legionnaire back to the store and invited him to take advantage of the discount the ring afforded him.

"Your Thane Gilder is someone's agent," said Morvayn. "The easiest is to start with the Thalmor since he was their prisoner. Gilder strikes me as one with a limited scope of operation with his need to control all minutia in his sphere. A key question is if this was his habit even before capture or one learned through trauma such as torture as any captured Legion officer would have been put through. I would begin tracking the outcome of other officers who were captured with him, those who left or killed themselves from prolonged battle fatigue."

"I can't use any of this," said Brunwulf. "I don't like what I'm hearing either, but I can't use this. This is a level of deception I have not the skill to deal with."

"Please, dear friend, I'm not asking you to," said Revyn, touching his arm. "I've asked my brother-in-law and his father to look into this. The Thalmor have long been their enemies. The focus remains on either overturning my conviction or surrendering on terms I can live with. Or live through. The secondary goal is to make a point of questioning these new tax burdens Gilder seeks to impose."

"I may have a few ideas," said Morvayn. He looked at Revyn. "Ones I think I should discuss with your defense council only at this point."

Revyn bowed out. Morvayn had his own investments to protect.

+—+—+—+—+

Morvayn had two meetings with Jarl Ulfric before returning home to Raven Rock. What was discussed was unknown. Brunwulf, who had the difficult task of setting up the private meetings, was tight-lipped about the subject as well.

Revyn was ordered to attend the final hearing of his case during the monthly public court session. The court was full as usual with many domestic matters unrelated to war that needed a Jarl's judgment — disputes between nobles, murders, inheritance disputes, complaints or demands for justice from those who were not satisfied with Steward Jorlief's handling, who had the money to push their case to the Jarl's notice, or just fell outside of the steward's authority to handle. Revyn stood beside Brunwulf and carefully watched Ulfric work. So long as none of the subjects touched directly upon the war, Imperials, or Thalmor the Jarl proved patient and quite intelligent in listening and rendering judgment. Too bad Dunmer and Argonian cases never made the docket.

A commotion at the great doors. Galmar came in proudly holding aloft a crown of bone and teeth. Flanking him were two familiar chitin-armored warriors. They doffed their helmets. Ralis on the left.

Her on the right.

Revyn's breath caught. So this is what his beloved would look like in another 150 years or so. Gods, she was beautiful.

His wife was the Dragonborn and General Faro, languidly sweeping the mortal audience with bright crimson eyes, was the dragon she was born from. Her perfection left him trembling, cold and terribly afraid.

"My Jarl! The Jagged Crown of the High Kings of the First Empire of Skyrim!" Ulfric rose as Galmar marched forward. Ulfric spent some time admiring the object until a low, deep-throated laugh arose from the warrior on Galmar's right.

"Go ahead and put it on, Jarl. I didn't spend hours wading through draugr and then arguing with High King Borgas just so you can admire the thing like a silly girl admiring her first formal dress."

"Show respect to your jarl!" Galmar roared, glaring at her over his shoulder.

"Then stop posing and be king."

Ulfric frowned at her. "In due time."

"Suit yourself." She rudely turned her back and walked towards the door. All eyes were on her.

Brunwulf stepped forward, hand raised for her attention. She glanced at him and then her eyes fell on Revyn. She smiled. Revyn found himself sidling backwards but bumped up against Ralis.

"Do not show fear to her mother," whispered Ralis.

"Faro. Stay. We shall conclude your husband's case now. Stay and hear my judgment."

Ralis pushed and Revyn found himself standing beside General Faro. She glanced at him. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of her gauntlet. Still holding her hand he placed his other hand on the small of her back and guided her around to face the jarl and urged her to return to the front of the room. Brunwulf fell in beside them.

"Good job, Helsette. Your habit of arriving just in time is faultless as usual," Brunwulf said in a low voice.

"I do try, serjo." Innocent enough reply but the Nord's senses were so high from tension that he immediately knew something was wrong — this wasn't Helsette Faro. The implications were horrible. And the certainty was the final push into battle awareness. His heart steadied to driving beat that shaped nerves to an armor of calm and focus.

"Free-Winter, present your final argument," commanded the jarl.

He should be paying attention but Revyn found his thoughts drifting. He'd let go of the general and had his hands passively folded together in front. He felt this was a dream, that he was a spirit adrift and only lightly connected to a physical point in space and time. And in this trial, he didn't have the Wabbajack in hand.

Brunwulf was summarizing his past arguments. The expected challenge from Gilder, that Revyn had been seen entering the Legion office in Castle Dour, and Tax Agent Garren being called to repeat word-for-word the conversation between Revyn and General Tullius. Gilder was outraged that Revyn dared bring his name to Tullius's attention. Unlike the rest of the court and Galmar, the jarl was strangely unperturbed by the Tullius's easy compliance to Revyn's request to withdraw troops.

General Faro was quietly chuckling. "You do have balls, my dear."

The jarl ordered Gilder to calm down and to summarize his charges against Sadri's Used Wares. He did, but against Brunwulf's arguments, the charges seemed to splinter, its force not so striking anymore.

Finally, the jarl rendered judgment. "The conviction will stand, but to a lesser degree. I have decided that Free-Winter's argument that the new tax laws have not yet been fully fitted to suit our ways and there are weaknesses that need to be worked on. I agree that Revyn Sadri has been quick to exploit such weaknesses and turn them to his advantage. However, that is to be expected of a merchant with his obvious and proven ambition and skills.

"I will grant that stock seized and Faro's mission to retrieve the Jagged Crown is sufficient for the conviction. I will grant Sadri's Used Wares the license to once again sell armor and weapons.

"The charges of potential treason against the Stormcloaks and myself I dismissed for now as unsubstantiated. However, these will not be entirely removed from consideration.

"But first, Revyn Sadri, I will express that I am displeased that you saw fit to bring a dignitary of a foreign country through Windhelm without notifying me. I speak of Councilor Morvayn who rules Solstheim, the island given over to Morrowind by the Moot of 4E 16. The Councilor had the courtesy to bring himself to my attention and to share with me his counsel of your influence upon his domain.

"You own property in this city and you are obviously now quite wealthy and contribute greatly to our city's wealth through taxes and business you bring in. Normally, an offer of thaneship would be made in exchange for a formal oath of fealty to me. But it is also obvious any such oath would be false. Your loyalty clearly lies with your own kind.

"I will take advantage of that. Loyalty to your people is not treason. Helsette Faro, whatever your parentage, your actions have demonstrated your concern for the wellbeing of my people against dangers not directly connected to our battle with the Empire.

"Revyn Sadri, I grant you Calixto's Museum as your property outside the Gray Quarter where you may relocate your shop. Your current home and shop will now be your office as the Steward of the Gray Quarter. Your task there is to oversee the welfare of the inhabitants of the Gray Quarter and that includes the Argonians on the dock. You will enforce law within the Quarter. Your own laws within reason and the laws of Windhelm. You will have the right to pass judgment on civic matters as Jorleif does, sending to me only those things only my authority can settle. You will work with Steward Jorleif and Thane Gilder to see taxes are properly enforced. Any budget for civic improvements in the quarter are whatever you can work out with Jorleif, keeping in mind our war with the Empire comes first. As a Steward you will also be required to advise me in any civic matter when I require it of you.

"If you choose to refuse this appointment, so be it. This was the first and only chance for the Gray Quarter community to have a voice in my court. Calixto's Museum will remain as city property. You may continue business as usual. And so will the rest of Gray Quarter."

"This is my judgment. What is your answer?"

"My jarl, may we have a day to consider this?" asked General Faro.

"As you merchants would say, reinvest or sell out now. I have other matters to attend to."

I've been wabbajacked, Revyn numbly realized. "I accept, my jarl."

"You will notified when your induction ceremony is scheduled. Jorleif, next case."


	27. Doomsday

_A/N: (1) Jyggalag's sword has no official qualities in cannon that I could find; so I made some up. (2) As always, constructive critiques and questions always welcome. When juggling head cannons, shooting oneself in the foot is a frequent risk. (3) Jarl Ulfric must have a bit of sea pirate in the blood. His stewardship cannonball sunk my original ship. The Daedra hijacked the story line. Revyn is still a shopkeeper who now happens to hold public office. (4) Doomsday,_ _, defn. #2: "any day of judgment or sentence."_

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

DOOMSDAY

"Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares. Have a look around; I'm sure we have something you need."

"When can we start fixing the sewers?"

"I'd like that too. Will you consider volunteering to be part of a committee to help me gather and organize priorities for the Quarter?"

This was the second day of office as the Steward of the Gray Quarter. Yesterday had been the induction. He was sworn into office and the Jarl returned to him the Dagger of Symmachus. The Nords had no idea of its significance; to them it was just another enchanted glass dagger among the many weapons confiscated from Sadri's Used Wares.

In return, Revyn acknowledged Jarl Ulfric as his liege by giving him the Sword of Jyggalag. After explaining who/what Jyggalag is/was, there was some protests that this artifact of a Daedra Prince might influence the Jarl, but Revyn swore the sword itself had no other magic other than it was unbreakable and would never dull. However, should the Jarl be tempted to charge off into battle with this sword, he should be aware the sword was a creation of cold, hard truth that the wielder might not be fully prepared to handle.

One truth Revyn had gotten was that Jarl Ulfric had been too full of frustration and despair that day at Helgen to take much note of the young, ragged girl in the execution cart with him — that was his grumbled confession in the few moments of privacy he had with Revyn before the Dunmer was to kneel before him to take the oath of service. It had been raining. The Imperials had dishonorably knocked her down from behind while she was explaining her presence in the area. She fought hard but it was three large men piled on top of her. The soldiers had brutally ground her into the mud as they stripped her of her armor and weapons. At Helgen, General Tullius was too busy ranting at Ulfric to take note of a sad, mud-caked waif with a rat's nest of hair that covered most of her face and whose swollen jaw and bruised throat prevented her from talking. Ulfric hadn't recognized her when she popped up in court two years later. All he saw was a mercenary in full chitin armor collecting a bounty from Steward Jorlief. She never approached Ulfric, much less made any mention of Helgen.

The only joyful spot of that miserable day was after the induction ceremony when Brunwulf presented Revyn and the Selvaai with their confiscated armors that he'd managed to buy in the auction following the raid on Sadri's home and shop. The auction had many eager buyers and he was only able to salvage their armors because Nords didn't favor things made of magically floating beasties and insect shells. He apologized to the ladies that he couldn't get their shields and weapons back, but he was outbid and out of money after buying back the armor. The ladies gladly repaid him for their armor and Revyn gave Brunwulf a permanent 20% discount on anything in his shop.

Ever since doomsday two weeks ago he'd barely left his shop, except for the day of induction, trying to transact business while making copious lists of complaints people wanted the new steward to fix. He would rather have been dealing with his wife's formidable mother but the general had left with Ralis shortly after delivering the Jagged Crown. They were going somewhere south of Riften to meet up with her husband and his group and then they would all return here.

Today was that day. But, really, the party had begun yesterday afternoon on the other side of The Door. Family Ra'athim and Family Felix had come to meet Revyn's ancestors. The _Felix Spirituum_ were a noisy bunch. The Nord guardian spirits on this side of The Door swirled about, wishing they could join in the fun.

Revyn's shoulders hunched up as he tried to ignore them to concentrate on paperwork.

+—+—+—+—+

They were camped on the dragon mound above Kynesgrove. The inn below was full of Stormcloaks coming in from Riften and General Faro, still wearing her daughter's armor and using her name because it made travel through Stormcloak territory easier, wanted to avoid them. The others besides Taliesin and Antony Felix were Cousins Horace and Cadence, Faro's Legion attendant, Danice, and Taliesin's friend, Hadrien.

Taliesin explained that their traveling story was his father was a retired Legion officer visiting Nord friends he'd served with in the Great War. Their current destination was Whiterun so that he could worship at the Temple of Kynareth with its famous Gildergreen and then onto Solitude. The others were bodyguards and servants.

Danice tried to keep a low profile but even in common leather armor her body language screamed "soldier." Taliesin's friend, Hadrien, dressed as a common alchemist and carried a basket. He was a Synod mage and a Master of Restoration. Horace and Cadence were merchants but for this trip they wore high collared, long padded jacks and carried long, curved swords which seemed clumsy until one realized they fought on horseback. They also had Bosmer-made shortbows, elegantly carved and polished, also used from horseback. Their dogs, Tangle and Jumper, Colvial Coursers bred to herd and protect cattle and sheep, looked like massive tangles of hair with teeth.

Antony Felix. Bright eyes and smiling mouth. Helsette may have gotten most of her looks from her mother but the brightness, the gaiety, that was the most obvious aspect from her father. There were two logs dragged in for seating around the campfire but Felix was on a thick cushion on the ground with his back propped against a log. Horace and Hadrien were seated on the log on the left and right like guardian statues.

"Take a load off your feet, boy. Relax. I'm feeling to lazy to do any carving tonight."

Little Nicky had once remarked, "Aunt Innana was all for a quick flambé while Uncle Tony wanted to string you up for selective cutting." Revyn wondered if Antony Felix smiled like that when he hung General Naarifin of the Dominion off the White-Gold Tower. The threat had been casually uttered as the family's original response to hearing a "200-year-old letch" had married their "darling baby girl."

The human was only 75 years, but Revyn acknowledged the other's seniority in relative terms of life stages. Revyn ignored the other log for seating, instead he chose a spot at the human's feet. Up close and personal, same for Helsette, same for Taliesin, same for their father. At this close, Revyn was aware of the palpable sense of mortality.

Revyn smiled and laid a hand on the nearest ankle, squeezing it in a bold show of affection. "I do hope your journey was uneventful, serjo."

"Surprisingly it was despite delays. For me anyways. The hot pools in The Rift were a delight. Nothing like a good, long, hot soak while watching giants herding mammoths and the occasional dragon soaring overhead."

Further conversation was short and equally inane. The human was tiring fast. When he fell asleep Horace and Hadrien eased him down fully on the ground and layered blankets over him. Revyn went to Ralis and pulled him away from the fire and Melynis. "First thing tomorrow morning you leave for Whiterun to find Helsette. She needs to come home now. Nicky too while you're at it."

Taliesin, who was standing nearby, looked as if heart stabbed. All laughter, all life drained. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, despairing.

"I'm sorry, but they're waiting at The Door. We bring him to my home tomorrow. He's not spend another night outside or in travel. He'll have a warm, comfortable place to rest and Hadrien will have all the supplies he needs to keep him pain free. The Ancestors will sustain him until he's ready."

+—+—+—+—+

Revyn and Melynis rode to Windhelm before dawn. While Melynis rode back with the horses, Revyn told Elani what was going on. She and Ambarys set up a temporary steward's office in the back room of the bar. Revyn hung a sign out that the shop would be closed until the new location was ready. He and Lady Karis prepared the cellar, bringing down the master bed from Revyn's room and clearing space for bedrolls for Taliesin and Hadrien. Melynis would share Lady Karis's room while Horace and Cadence would take Melynis's room. He arranged for Danice to stay at the stable house outside the city so that she could watch over the horses, dogs, and carriage.

"Where's the general?" Revyn asked.

"Well, since my mother's pretending to be my sister, Stone-Fist's men intercepted us at the gate saying he had another gods' damned mission for my sister," said Taliesin. "Mother went along with it so that they wouldn't delay the rest of us from getting here."

"Mephala take him," Revyn swore. "I'm the one Jarl Ulfric collared to service, not my wife. Korvanjund was suppose to be a one-time only service to the Stormcloaks.

"Lady Karis can help you settle in. I'll go to the palace immediately and remind the Jarl and Stone-Fist that one of the terms of my stewardship was that my wife remain an independent agent."

Galmar Stone-Fist wasn't happy at Revyn's interference but the Jarl reluctantly agreed his steward's wife was not obliged to run any Stormcloak missions. Slapping Galmar's hands was not without cost, however. Revyn now had to give the Stormcloaks and city guards discounts at his shop.

Three days later. "Just go ahead and call me 'Tony," instructed Felix. "I'm no priest so I won't be calling you 'son' and you're too old to call me 'Papa Tony.'"

They were alone in the cellar at the moment. Some were upstairs preparing dinner and other's were wandering about Windhelm. The cellar was hot, the equivalent of a summer day in the southern lands with extra overhead lights added to simulate daylight hours. The lights were something the healers at Winterhold had been experimenting with for students who showed depression and mood swings after only a few weeks at the winter-locked college. Based on fragments of knowledge gleaned from both Dwemer and Ayleid, something about the quality of lights as a component of magicka affecting the mental condition. The mer and other non-Nords seemed to flourish with the artificial lights. Nord students varied, depending on where they were born.

Felix was sitting up in the bed, propped up by thick pillows. Revyn sat on a chair pulled close to the bed. A chessboard was on the bed tray propped above Felix's legs.

"So my wife is off to Solitude to give Jarlan hell for Helgen. Poor fellow. He had a legitimate excuse if what Jarl Ulfric told you is true." The human's energies had picked up considerably after two day's rest in the cellar and being surrounded by the Ancestors. He'd seen them in his dreams he'd told his wife. This was the end of his tour and he knew it, and rather than being beaten by it he was contented and strangely happy.

"Ah, but since the officer in charge of executions died at Helgen, I'm afraid that restricts the target for a mother's wrath," said Revyn.

Antony merely grunted and changed the subject to the Dragonborn identity. "Is this Hadvar fellow aware of what she is?"

"Not that I am aware of. The people of Riverwood only remember her as Hadvar's friend who escaped Helgen with him. I keep regular contact with the shopkeeper there and the gossip they share indicates they all still see her as a mercenary. The one exception has long since left town. A survivor of the Dominion purge of Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Damn. A Blade."

"Her name is Delphine and neither my wife nor I approve of her. There is another named Esbern who would be pleasant if he didn't share Delphine's blind determination to kill all dragons without exception."

"Meaning there is an exception."

"Quite. The leader and teacher of the Graybeards is a dragon named Paarthurnax who also happens to be the younger brother of Alduin. Helsette—"

"Wait. I read the dragon's don't have a sex, that they were just created along with Mundus. So technically they'd all be brothers, wouldn't they?"

"I understand the dragon used that term to describe his relationship to Alduin. We've just accepted it as is. Now as I saying, Helsette is quite fond of him. According to Graybeard lore, when the Goddess Kyne looked for an ally she found Paarthurnax who had grown sick of Alduin's rule. He taught the Tongues who turned into great dragon killers and who used an Elder Scroll to exile Alduin. The battle was on that mountain, the Throat of the World, and Paarthurnax has sat there since in a self-imposed duty to guard the 'time wound' as he calls it."

"Fascinating. I'm envious. I'd love to be able to talk to him," said Antony with a wistful smile. "She needs Goldbrand then. If I remember what little lore I've researched, the blade is said to have been forged by dragons for a great warrior pledged to protect all dragons. An Atmoran knight perhaps? Before they came to Tamriel."

"Interesting," Revyn said. "The Blades have an ancient weapon called Dragonbane. Helsette has seen it and refused to use it. Well, one reason is that she prefers to use her bow and her Shouts rather than getting in arm's distance to a dragon's mouth and relying on sword play to keep it from chomping her."

"Where is this Delphine now, do you know?"

"Sky Haven Temple in The Reach. Helsette helped them find it but she's refused Delphine's demand she help them find recruits to fill it. Delphine has since disowned her until she kills Paarthurnax."

"What an idiot. She gives Blades a bad name. Now, who else knows she's Dragonborn?"

"Starting at Solstheim, Telvanni Mage-Lord Neloth because he's helped her find the Black Books and made the connections between Hermaeus Mora, the Dwemer, and the current dragon cult problem. The Skaal Village because of their past history with the dragon cult and the First Dragonborn."

"Him. I've started reading those reports you get on him. Bastard."

"The Redoran Councilors know for certain. Some of their people suspect, but the councilors are actively discouraging the association and actively blame Miraak for the dragons now appearing on the island. My cousin there, of course, knows. So does Savos Aren, the mage living in our house over there and writing those reports. Oh, and he's also the former Archmage of Winterhold. Our house steward over there, of course, also knows. There's an armiger and another mercenary that know and are unlikely to talk.

"At Whiterun only the Jarl and his closest advisors know. She first met the Jarl after the villagers of Riverwood asked her to deliver a message to Whiterun asking for guards. She delivered the message and while the Jarl was arguing costs and political boundaries with his people, she snuck out and came here to Windhelm to catch the boat to Solstheim where she stayed for two years, endearing herself to the Redorans, building up her weapons skills, and learning enchantment magic from Mage-Lord Neloth."

"Then she met Miraak and he told her she was Dragonborn," said Antony, tapping the pile of reports on the Dwemer spider table pulled alongside his bed. "She found word walls, heard words, but had no idea what they mean or why these words were stuck in her brain. The Skaal couldn't help her and so she came back to Skyrim to learn more."

"Yes. In Windhelm she got her full of the overblown fantasies of the great Nord hero who would slay the dragons and free Skyrim. She also got tired fast of their attitude towards her. So she hoped Whiterun would give her more information without the attitude. She had the presence of mind before returning to Whiterun to hide her identity in case the Nords there resented that a Dunmer was the Dragonborn of legend and not one of their own."

Antony chuckled. "Has she told you the Nerevarine is the family godfather?"

"Yes. The irony is not lost on us. Our Lord Nerevar reborn an Imperial and Nord mix. Well, once she proved herself to Whiterun by slaying a dragon, and the Graybeards announcing the presence of a dragonborn to the world, she felt it safe to reveal her identity to Jarl Balgruuf and his advisors. Lydia, her housecarl, knows of course. I don't know of any others there that officially know. I suspect the inner circle of the Companions might know or strongly suspect just by scent. They're all werewolves. But, as we know their secret, they're unlikely to tell hers.

"At Whiterun I set up a Adassa Velot as my second-in-command of our business organization. Too all of Skyrim she is the Dragonborn's steward and handles all businesses the Dragonborn is known to own and she takes care of all the official correspondence. She is also in a position to take over my businesses had Jarl Ulric's judgment decided a different fate for me. Adassa's father also knows because he's the one person she can't keep secrets from. He's a former High Ordinator and is familiar with the games of demi-gods and kings.

"In Morthal, the Jarl knows of course. The woman is an untrained seer and her youngest son is the same. I don't know if the Jarl has told anyone else. Her son, well, people there think he's touched in the head like his mother and he's really too young and distracted to make sense of what he sees. She is a Thane there and we have a property, Windstad Manor, a nice place on the Karth delta and any hour by rowboat from Solitude's docks. The steward and our business manager and the manager's wife there know she's Dragonborn, the others living at the manor know her only as the Thane of Morthal.

"In Solitude, we've not told anyone she's the Dragonborn. She is Thane there also and her housecarl, Jordis, knows of course. Solitude still views her as the Thane who started out as a common mercenary. But no doubt by now they know her parentage. Unavoidable. Once the Stormcloaks knew, of course people would be asking the Legion to verify the rumor. She has actively avoided General Tullius. He has indicated to me that he understands her reasons, although he did not elaborate on what he thinks her reasons are. What my wife tells me is that she was trying not to be associated with the Legion.

"It is bad enough that she took the name 'Antonia Felix' for her Dragonborn persona. Quite a lack of imagination on my beloved's part. She's getting better at the game, but is still quite clumsy at times."

"And so she takes up with an old veteran player," Antony grumbled under his breath.

"I rather resent that. I come from a long line of caravan traders and shopkeepers. I was raised to be a merchant. She gets into so much trouble that I'm constantly stretching my wits to make what I know work in terrain I'm unfamiliar with." Revyn resented the peevish note he heard in himself. He wondered what had set of that burst of resentment. He rubbed his eyes as the set the emotions aside and returned to the original subject.

"Do you think your wife will tell General Tullius that Helsette is the Dragonborn?" asked Revyn.

"She probably will confirm it. As you've said, with that name the tracks were obvious. Jarlan is not an idiot. He will have made the correct assumptions, kept the knowledge to himself and avoided contact with her."

"Then I suppose you should know your daughter is on the Thalmor's 'kill-with-extreme-prejudice' list. While working with Delphine the Blade, Delphine set her up to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy on Mount Kilkreath. Things got messy and Helsette ended up killing half the personnel and the Second Ambassador and freeing everyone in the interrogation dungeon below the embassy."

"Shit," Tony said then laughed until he was wheezing.

"Her second attack against the Thalmor was at a place called Northwatch Keep, an old, abandoned fort of the Third Era where the Thalmor had illegally garrisoned a unit for a prison and interrogation center. The Thalmor managed to recapture at least one prisoner who identified Helsette by her chitin armor. I keep telling Helsette she needs to wear more generic Nord armor but she hates iron and steel. And she won't wear Altmer or glass armor because she's more likely to be mistaken for a Dominion lackey and be attacked.

"The Ambassador has tried to brand her an outlaw but she's a hero to too many people and the Legion won't cooperate with them.

"I have no doubt the Thalmor already knew who her parents were well before the Stormcloaks found out.

"Now Winterhold is a tricky case. She originally went there and established herself as the Faro the Mercenary. When she decided to enroll she enrolled as the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun. And then she became the Archmage. So, everyone knows the Dragonborn is now the Archmage of Winterhold. She has made full disclosure to select senior staff members of the College that the Faro the Mercenary is also Felix the Dragonborn. Everyone else still thinks the two are separate people. The two I talk with most are Master Wizard Tolfdir and Lore-Master Urag. A few senior students know, the ones assigned to assist Master Aren on Solstheim. It's tricky keeping the identities separate. As Faro, anybody wishing to hire her has to set a meeting at the town's inn. Occasionally we have Lydia, the Whiterun housecarl, impersonating her. It works so long as Lydia doesn't talk or remove her helmet or stay too long in an area familiar with Helsette to note that the imposter is taller and of broader build. Jordis the Solitude housecarl, is even taller so we've never asked her to disguise herself.

"In Windhelm, only my friends Elani and Ambarys know she's the Dragonborn. Even my apprentice, Savela, doesn't know. I hope not. She's a very bright girl and keeping a secret around her keeps me on my toes. It helps that even before she joined the College we managed to establish Faro the Mercenary's reputation in the region as an enchantress trained in Morrowind. At the College, as the Archmage, she's known for the schools of Destruction and Conjuration.

"And as the Dragonborn, she's not popular in Windhelm at all. We set up a visit by the Dragonborn accompanied by Lydia armored as Faro. And with the added excitement of attacking dragons, nobody really studied Lydia and so she was able to run around the Quarter letting everyone seeing her, with none the wiser, while the Dragonborn was having dinner at the Palace and offending everyone with her Altmer-like behavior.

"And now, thanks to Gilder, it's known to all that Helsette Faro is the daughter of General Innana Faro and Legate Antony Felix, and that the Felix family help put the Medes on the throne. I fully expect to be officially questioned about this soon and I'm not sure how I'll answer."

"Elden Gilder. Yes. When you ordered my wife to run a mission — ballsy of you by the way — we detoured to the nearest Legion post so that I could send inquiries to our own quartermaster of the Second Legion. She would know best how to get information out of the Cyrodiil headquarters division. Gilder is not known to me. If she finds anything, she's been instructed to send her findings directly to General Tullius. If it goes to Tullius, the Dominion will think it only standard investigation by the Legion. They'll either let it go or, if Gilder is their creature, they'll increase pressure on him because his usefulness has become limited, which means things should get interesting for you."

"I don't need any more interest. I've got too much interest," Revyn said sourly. "I would like my life back as a simple shopkeeper building a merchant empire on the sly. This fallout from Gilder's troublemaking has put a serious cap on my trades. I'm suppose to be working with him, you know, to refine new tax laws and collection methods which do not make me popular to anybody here. I have enough worries about getting knifed as it is."

Antony hummed with amusement. "Tally and I have also been running ideas of how to offset my dear child's mistake of using my name for her dragon persona." He reached out now and patted Revyn's knee. "You're doing better than you know, Revyn. You know mercantile espionage, but military and political espionage is our bailiwick and one I love playing. So, are there any other groups to be concerned about?"

"Um, the Dawnguard, an offshoot of the Vigilants of Stendarr, don't know she's Dragonborn. She doesn't think the vampires suspect yet."

"Vampires," Antony repeated, scowling. "Damn. You can tell me what you know about them later. Dragons and Thalmor first."

Cadence opened the door. "Ready to eat? Uncle, do you feel strong enough to come upstairs or shall I bring a tray down?"

"Upstairs. I'm feeling stronger than I've felt in months now."

Revyn picked up the bed tray and set it aside. He helped Antony sit up and he and Cadence assisted Antony up the stairs.

A king slowly moved to another square. 

* * *

**GalacticHafling** : Wabbajack. Nobody was expecting this (including me). How Jarl Ulfric came up with this sadistic sentence, there had to be a Daedra involved. Or maybe lessons taught by Elenwen. I expect Revyn will be having a talk with Councilor Morvayn about his secret meetings with Jarl Ulfric.

Part 2, ending paragraphs, Taliesin's letter told Revyn he was going to meet his parents at Stonefalls. Revyn sent out instructions. One to his wife to play up the Dragonborn, and the second he dared instruct General Faro (not Lydia) to take on Korvanjund. A weakness I never did emphasize in past stories was that mother and daughter strong resemble each other.

 **Mary Muir** : Sorry about the muddled points of reference. It was Brunwulf who was talking/commenting on her timing and at first mistook her for her daughter. (I'll probably fix this by the time I post a new chapter.)

Gilder never actually worked with Faro. He's with HQ in Cyrodiil; the general is with her Legion on the border of Elsewyr. It's the 2nd Legion quartermaster who talks to HQ, so Gilder knows the name and rep, but has never met in person.

 **jfrost22792** : Yeah. I'm going with the bet that he's quite intelligent when he can reign in his blinding hatred of all mer and of the Empire that stems from severe emotional trauma.


	28. Doomsday, pt2

_GalacticHalfling: Ancestors should be worshipped, not heard_ en masse _. And since the breakthrough in Appocrypha, the Felix ancestors have been tripping into Moonshadow quite a bit. I don't think their "partying" is on the level of Disney Mulan's ancestors. Yeah, cartoony. ** Ghosts gathering at any Door is usually not a good sign (for the living anyway)._

 _A/N: Inconsistency clear-up. Faro commands the 3rd Legion at Elsewyr. On reviewing past writings I see I keep mixing up the 2nd with the 3rd. (Not that I've ever seen any canon references of which Legion Tullius commands.)_

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

DOOMSDAY, Pt.2

Startups are often a trial of scraping together one's resources along with numerous planning of scenarios. In the case of public office, the idea was not sink one's personal fortune into the job as one would with a private business. And so Revyn was meeting with Jorlief about initial funds for the new office of steward of the Gray Quarter.

One problem was that the Jarl had so off-handedly designated his home shop as a public office. Alright, he could afford that. Security cases that once held expensive stock could be modified to hold public records and cash boxes. The front counter and room could be converted to a public area where clerks would take names and complaints and and shop floor space could be sectioned for work areas.

Then there was the matter of staff. Right now he had volunteers willing to help define civic projects and willing to help with initial office setup. But he needed paid staff.

The initial authorized budget of 5000 wasn't even a joke. That wouldn't cover even half of shop conversion costs. Costs Revyn was expected to eat if he wanted monies for hiring, training, and keeping staff. One of the liabilities of being rich when marched at swordpoint into office.

Jorlief was apologetic but the Jarl refused to consider more until Revyn could present him with definitive plans for projects and a marked increase in tax revenues for the next tax cycle. As for staff, a guard officer would be assigned specifically to the Gray Quarter and clerk from Jorlief's staff would be reassigned to help train new clerks to Windhelm's government system. Revyn was expected to find the clerk suitable living quarters

The second business was clearing reconstruction plans for Calixto's Museum to turn it into a larger shop for Revyn's commercial business. A cellar and an open upper level was needed. The building was built against the east wall of the city and any changes had to be constructed with defense in mind. The cellar was also a bigger undertaking because it was bedrock in that area of the city whereas most the Gray Quarter had been built of loose rubble leftover from the original construction of the city and landfill to build up and level the city from the docks.

Revyn cut off the discussion when he saw Jarl Ulfric and Stone-Fist leave the war room. He moved to intercept.

"My Jarl, a moment, please. I wish to speak to you about a guest my wife brought in five days ago."

"Go on."

"Thank you, my Jarl. I am informing you that my wife was escorting her father, Antony Felix, retired Legate of the Third Legion, to Solitude when you ordered her to investigate Korvanjund. The party camped in the Rift and waited until she could return. However, her father's health has taken a turn for the worst and she brought him here so that he may die in comfort."

"We should take him for questioning," said Stone-Fist.

Revyn frowned at him. "Not advisable to move him, sir. My wife, her brother, and their cousins will object. I object. However, if you wish to come to my home and ask your questions under the eyes of his children, you are welcome. Indeed, my father-in-law is expecting your questions."

+—+—+—+—+

"I've talked with our local priestess of Arkay and she's willing to participate. I've also checked with the construction crew at Refugee's Rest; they'll push up the work schedule," Revyn informed Antony Felix. "I do hope this works."

"Trust me, we've been doing this a long time. Bait and switch — it isn't just a merchant's game. Just as the emperor has a body double cousin to attend to the tedious public appearances and official parties and social dinners, we've found it expedient to create a body double for my dear wife. Once we found a womer with the wit and voice and mimicry skills, who was willing to let a face sculptor alter her features, she's been our secret weapon that lets Innana roam about to take care of sensitive matters.

"We activated her as we left on this trip so for all this time everyone has seen Innana at her post, parading with troops and doing routine inspections. And people know me. I wander off on a whim all the time. So my latest trip ends up being my last. I hadn't planned to die up here, but, eh, whatever. It doesn't change the basic plan. The shadow is prepared to play the grieving widow."

"Silly of him to travel about at his age, but my husband usually had good reasons for wandering away. At least this time he was well attended by his son, our cousins, and his personal physician," murmured General Faro, delivering in flat tones a pre-scripted speech. She was reclined in the bed with Antony cradled in her arms. "His itinerary was no secret. The sudden downturn in his health..." Her voice broke and she turned her face to nuzzle her husband's hair.

Taliesin started speaking. "I found Galathil in Riften's sewers still hiding out from the Thalmor. She was able to use the plaster cast we made of your face, mother, to craft masks for both you and Helsette. She was the apprentice of Tuirdalin," he explained to Revyn, "the sculptor who did our shadow's face."

"Can we trust this face sculptor?" asked Revyn. "Why is she hiding from the Thalmor? And why a mask for you, Sera Innana?"

"We can trust her," said Taliesin, confidently. "We've paid her enough to leave Skyrim and set up shop somewhere else. And she knows if she betrays us I will find her and kill her. As for the Thalmor, they've developed this thing about purity and suddenly anyone altering their appearance to match the Thalmor ideals of perfection is guilty of perversion, of diluting the purity by masking the imperfect, and sculptors are seen as accomplices to this. Plus, she's helped the wrong people escape Thalmor justice by making them unrecognizable. And as for a mask for mother, you got away with a brief appearance in court among Nords. But, really, anyone who knows Helsette will be able to see differences in bone structure. Mother has classically sharp features while Helsette's are noticeably softer. The masks, along with strong illusion spells I'll lay on them, will do the trick for the time we need them. Rather like the fabled Cowl of Nocturnal, but only good for about two uses. I'm not a daedra to make it a permanent mask effect."

Revyn nodded, accepting Taliesin's confidence. The ease this family practiced deception intimidated him and the level they played it on was one he never aspired to.

"And so the Dragonborn and Helsette will confront each other during the funeral of Antony Felix in Windhelm instead of the social party originally planned in Solitude. The Dragonborn unmasked and showing she is an Imperial; the illegitimate child of Antony." Revyn repeated the plan.

"I spent a long time in recovery after fighting General Naarifin. Years of intense healer sessions and barrels of potions. Helga Ansdotter was among the Winterhold healers who attended me. She had an affair with one of my married Legion officers. He killed her to prevent his wife's family from finding out. But I found out and I had him tried and executed for murder of course.

"For this story, she had a child before her murder. I'll let you fill in where she was raised and by whom. As far as I know, Helga's family was scattered during the Great Collapse in Winterhold. I don't know if there are any remnants left there or who may remember her. The core is that the child knew I was the father, I was already married, and that it was moment of weakness on both our parts. Her motives for using my name I'll leave to Helsette to improvise."

"Damn." Revyn rubbed his face, feeling tired and worried. Antony had unshakeable confidence in his daughter's ability to improvise her role under such pressure. Yes, Helsette excelled at performing under pressure, but hers was the ability to improvise physical combat against dragons, hordes of undead, robbers, assassins and the like. She froze, her brilliance hiding like a frightened rabbit when thrown into unknown social conditions.

She fretted over conversations and social cues. Some part of her wits seemed to shut down unless talking combat and weapons or concentrating on music. Among strangers the part of her mind that analyzed motives, tactics, situational cues — that seemed to vanish. She felt no emotions, failed to recognize expressions until much later, often when it was too late to respond appropriately. It made her seem uncaring and flippant. And she knew it and didn't like it. The anonymity her Dragonmask or her full-face helmet was a barrier that kept most of her wits from escaping and it was a crutch she leaned heavily on. Revyn recalled so many hours of listening to her travel stories and then re-roleplaying social scenarios until she was comfortable without that giveaway shield. It was usually then that he was all too aware of her age and awkward, still developing areas of emotional maturity. Antony had told him during one of their evening talks that Taliesin had matured at the usual pace for a mer child, not really developing as an adult until his 30s. Helsette, right off, seemed to develop at human speed, which was why they weren't frantic with worry when she took off from home at 16. All indications was that she was one of those hybrids who looked mer but lived only so long as humans.

He excused himself, offering to prepare a late-night snack tray. He was surprised when Cadence insisted on assisting him.

"You're worried about Helsette's role in this," she stated. "I know Uncle Antony and Taliesin believe her capable of acting her part. All reports for Tullius and Taliesin's own estimation seems to say so. Father and son think alike, act alike, have worked long together. Helsette seems to have taken after her father and they assume to know her mental and emotional capabilities. But as her husband, what do you say?"

He hadn't much interaction with the cousins Horace and Cadence. They seemed happy to fade into the background, letting the more forceful Antony and Taliesin hold stage. They normally handled the family vineyards and wine production as he understood it from Taliesin. But they'd insisted on coming on this journey playing as bodyguards, not that they didn't know how to use weapons. They'd both fought in the Great War as scouts at the Valenwood border against Altmer-led Bosmeri troops.

And then he remembered that that half of the family specialized as spies while running the wine business.

And when he'd chatted with them about why they'd brought those great, hairy dogs to Skyrim he learned that during the war she and Horace trained and ran war dogs. Against Bosmer. An accomplishment that, if one truly thought about it, was mind boggling.

"It's going to fall apart if Helsette doesn't get here soon," he confessed. "As I've told Antony this before, this is a good plan and I can't think of anything better, but this can't be a last minute improvisation for her. My Helsette can't act at this level to save her life. She needs time to rehearse this. Rehearse. And it might give her time to act out any crippling grief before the final performance."

"I see. That fits to what I've heard of Innana in her much younger years from Grandfather Hilarius who knew her when they were both children. Uncle Antony married the older, mature, more confident version so he's never seen the socially awkward girl who hid her weakness with military protocols. Following the Concordat Aunt Innana was too busy settling the borders at Elsewyr to give much time to Helsette. Uncle Antony, too, was preoccupied. He spent more time with the healers than was public knowledge. When he was in public, or with his children, he put on a facade of energy and cheer. He missed then that his little girl needed more than happy words.

"Revyn, I'm going to give you a hug," she stated, giving him a moment for a quick breath of astonishment, a chance to escape, and then embraced him tightly. "Horace and I will go to meet her. We'll prepare her for this role while you handle things from here. You'll need to prepare Aunt Innana for her part, too. If there's a chance the dragon is going to roar, she needs to know how to react as Helsette Faro Sadri would react."

+—+—+—+—+

It was a surprise when the Jarl, Jorlief, and Galmar came to visit. Innana was absent; called out on an emergency was the excuse. But there was Taliesin, Little Nicky, and Hadrien keeping grim watch in the background. After plotting all night, no breakfast, and medicines taken on an empty stomach, Antony looked haggard, weary, and sunken-eyed. The upper levels were pleasantly warm — for Dunmer — while descending into the cellar was like abruptly dropping into a Cyrodiil summer. The three Nords immediately started sweating and removing their summerweight fur mantles.

Revyn left the Jarl and Galmar to talk to Antony. He went upstairs and Jorlief gratefully followed him. He showed Jorlief about the emptied rooms and discussed the planned setup, how Revyn planned to split his time between the steward's post and his own business. Jorlief gave him more information on who was who in Windhelm's overall government and tips on dealing with specific people and families.

"How much longer do you think he'll last?" asked Jorlief when the subject inevitably came back to Felix.

"We don't belief he'll make it beyond the next two weeks. The blond Imperial you saw is his personal physician, a master of the Restoration school. He spends hours every day doing everything he can to keep Antony pain free and lucid. As I understand it, Antony has unpredictable health issues that have gotten worse as he's aged. He tells me it's from something he caught when he did a tour in Black Marsh. He thought he'd recovered, but Hadrien says it's one of those illnesses that only go into hiding and then re-emerges when the host is weakened either by another severe illness or the natural decline of age.

"He really shouldn't have tried to travel, but since my wife was too busy to return to Cheydinhal to visit, he was determined to see her before he died. If they had sent a letter asking her to return because of his health, of course she would have gone. But Taliesin said it's a family trait to push things beyond reason, and so it's no surprise that if their father got it into his head he was going to make his last adventure a tour of Skyrim, then that's what he was going to do."

"I see where your lady gets her adventuring ways from," said Jorlief with a smile and sympathetic chuckle. "Still, what a loss for your family. Will you be leaving for Cyrodiil to return the body?"

"No. He has requested a Dunmer funeral. We burn our dead. Refugees Rest, why we've been rebuilding there, his will be the first cremation."

"An Imperial."

"Helsette's father. Anyone objecting can argue with her and with me. It's our money that has been primarily funding the rebuilding. Priestess Helgird has agreed to preside since he is a worshipper of the Divines. She also has a professional interest in our ceremonies for the dead."

"Private or public ceremony?"

"In this case it will be public. For the Gray Quarter it will also mark the return of Refugee's Rest as a place for our people. A final sanctuary as it were."

"Your first civic project then, and one you won't have to justify to me anymore for any future funding. I know it's been a long, sore point with your people that they haven't been allowed any space in our cemetaries after the first few decades."

"Yes. It's a start. One I pray isn't doomed to fail as this civil war plays out."


	29. Doomsday, pt3

_A/N: Meh. Not really happy with this, but it was becoming one of those blocks I just have to write through so I can get onto other ideas._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

DOOMSDAY, pt.3

Taliesin's played the music his father favored, lively dances and gentle romantic ballads. Innana Faro sat on the bed against the headboard, her husband's shoulders and head resting on a pillow in her lap. Her hands caressed his jaws, neck, and shoulders. Pacing their route. Waiting for the last beat, the last breath to slip from beneath her fingers. Helsette lay on her back at the other end of the mattress, her father's feet pressed against her waist. Her left arm curled under her head and the other stroking the blanket over her father's ankles and shins as she told him about all the wondrous, hidden groves she discovered in Skyrim, from the lush Gildergreen Sanctuary in the hot, volcanic land of The Rift to the Ancestors Moth Grove high in the mountains over Falkreath.

When he wasn't at war, Antony loved the rich garden he cultivated at their manor house in Cheydinhal. Another long, rewarding day of tending the flowers and fruit vines and bushes. He lay again at his favorite spot against a planter box holding a bay laurel tree. His son was practicing his hu'uchir and his untiring daughter was playing around his feet and chattering a funny story about chasing butterflies around magic trees. To make everything perfect, he heard his wife whispering his name as she dropped down beside him and pulled him into her arms. It was rare they ever had time together at home with the children. Fragmented pieces of memory decades apart. It didn't matter. It was all as one now.

+—+—+—+—+

The Jarl had visited two more times after the first visit with Antony. What was discussed during those visits was between the Jarl and Antony with only Hadrien attending in his role as Antony's physician, and he was silent on an oath of confidentiality. Antony's only comment was that Ulfric had a lot of questions about the Dominion during the Great War and appeared willing to listen to the Felix's point of view of the war and its aftermath. How much of it Ulfric ultimately agreed with the Jarl kept to himself.

This was the fourth and last visit. Stormcloak guards glared and used shields to keep a clear space around the Jarl as he attended the funeral of a famous Legion officer and the father of one of the most notorious mercenaries of the Gray Quarter. There were other high-ranked Nords with him, attending more out of curiosity than any respect for the deceased or regard for the re-opening of Refugees' Rest.

All of Revyn and Helsette's friends were here along with other influential people in the Gray Quarter. Volunteer Dunmer warriors, the unsuspected number which spooked the Nord guards, kept the crowd in order and watched for trouble.

A nest of pine boughs filled the round, shallow cremation bowl. Antony Felix's body lay on top, dressed in silk robes gleaming with the oils they'd been saturated in, a clay death mask over his face. His children stood on either side of the dais. Halgerd, Priestess of Arkay, called upon the Divines to receive his soul. After her, Revyn stepped forward. "From ash we are born, to ash we return," he began.

A stir at the edge of the crowd. A parting as the crowd gave way to the masked Dragonborn on her demonic horse-form mount of purple fire over bones.

Helsette and Taliesin exchanged baffled looks then walked around the dais to place themselves between their father's body and the Dragonborn. Their Imperial cousins were quick to flank them.

Taliesin, as the older sibling, spoke. "Dragonborn, we are honoring our dead here. Do you have business with someone?"

The mask should have muffled the Dragonborn's voice, but instead her words rang clear and shook the air around her. Everyone heard. "I came here for Antony Maximus Gaius Felix, First Legate of the Third Legion, husband to General Innana Faro of House Ra'athim."

"That was him. What do you seek?" asked Taliesin again.

The Dragonborn removed her mask, an action that stunned the crowd into silence. She never removed her mask. She was as famous for that as she was for her voice. They stared at the Imperial woman. Honey gold hair, thick and curly, her eyes were the green of young, fresh grass, a Nord's pale skin, her nose was classic, aquiline Imperial.

"I came to see the father I was unable to meet during his life; whom my mother loved but knew she could never have." She dismounted. The demon horse whinnied and faded away. She was of the same height as Taliesin and as she got closer, eyes observed the profiles, the hair, the matching features. On the male Dunmer, it was boyish and cute. On her, it was a strong, sturdy beauty. Helsette obviously took more after the mother but her human heritage, to Dunmer eyes, showed in her forehead, cheekbones, and chin.

The Dragonborn turned her face to Helsette. "I was also there at Helgen, living with my foster parents and earning a living as a trapper and hedge witch. The execution of rebels didn't interest me. I was there to sell meat, furs and potions to the Legion quartermaster. I spotted the dragon as it cleared the mountains and was running for the gates before the first roar."

"How do you dare claim my father bedded your mother?" burst out Taliesin. "Who was your mother?"

"Helga Ansdotter of Winterhold. She was one of a group of healers from the College accompanying the Windhelm regiment led by Ulfric, the son of Jarl Hoag. Upon reaching Cyrodiil the healers were dispersed to other posts depending on need. Mother went to the Third Legion of General Faro. Among the Third's many injured was Legate Felix." She shrugged. "Things happened," she drawled with a condescending note. "He required months of recovery and attention and General Faro had too many duties to see to to hover over a sick man's bed."

"Dragonborn, I don't understand," said Helsette, stepping forward while shouldering her brother aside. "I've run a lot of contract jobs for the College. You hired me yourself three times to watch your back while you looked for magic artifacts in ancient ruins. I even let you talk me into that damned embarrassing Solitude job and I've been in trouble with the Thalmor ever since. Never once have you asked my about my parents. Why here and why now?"

"Why had you never asked me about my name?" countered the Dragonborn.

Helsette's hands flicked up in frustration and came down to land on her hips. "Of course I'd wondered about it. But your reputation for guarding your privacy is well known. I was hoping we were becoming friends. I was hoping you'd eventually tell me yourself." The hurt and disappointment was there.

Revyn assessed the audience. Taliesin's spell to amplify voices made sure everyone heard everything said on this platform. Revyn focused on Thane Gilder. Nothing of note there. He had the same stunned, fascinated look most of the watchers had. The Jarl briefly locked gazes with him; the calculating look in those gray eyes told Revyn he hadn't forgotten the way the Dragonborn had insulted him and his court when she was in Windhelm.

"I know. You hinted strongly enough," said the Dragonborn. Her voice went up and mocked a naive tone. "'Oh, hey, there's a famous Legion officer by that name; are you related?' Would you have answered me truthfully if I'd turned your question back on you saying, 'Oh, hey, there's a famous Legion general by that name; are you related?'"

"Of course I would have!" Helsette snapped.

"Because you have the right to claim your parentage." There was hurt there, too, with a touch of old, cold anger.

Revyn scanned the sky. Oh, good. Boethiah had decided this was entertaining enough that she needn't again surprise them with a dragon attack. He was cautiously grateful.

The three were starting to shout.

"Enough!" he snapped and sprinted to Helsette to wrap his arms around her and swing her away from the Dragonborn. "Calm yourself, love. Taliesin, enough. Dragonborn, peace. We can all discuss this later in private. The Ancestors are waiting and they're getting quite impatient. Take your places, please. You too, Dragonborn, stand there, opposite of me."

"What?" challenged Taliesin.

"Please, brother. Do you honestly think your father would have kept this from your mother? That she didn't know?" Taliesin scowled but made no further protest.

Helsette and Taliesin returned to their places. The Dragonborn planted herself at the feet of the body. Revyn finished the prayer invoking the Antony's Felix's ancestors to gather and receive his soul. Helsette and Taliesin invoked Ancestor's Sanctuary and set the body alight.

As the body became fully engulfed in flame, the Dragonborn imperiously ordered everyone to stand back. When they did, she breathed dragonfire. The flames became incandescent. Then abruptly the fires were gone and there was only a dry, brittle skeleton laying on a fine, white ashes. Revyn gathered the bones up and put them into a box. The ashes were carefully swept onto a plate. Box and plate were taken by the Gray Quarter's master bonecrafter. The remains would go to the ceremonial mill, kiln, and jeweler's forge built at the back of the rebuilt tower to be ground to coarse grit. Part would go into a ceremonial urn to be returned to the family in Cheydinhal, the remainder would be remilled to a fine powder and then mixed with resins to make special bonemold jewelry glazed in glass made from the wood ash from the pyre.

The rest of the tower's rededication ceremony he left in the hands of the Atherons and Hlaalu. The Selvaai commanded the Dunmer guards and kept order. Jarl Ulfric, naturally, tried to corner the Dragonborn, but she summoned her demon horse and fled the area.

Revyn and the Priestess of Arkay went to watch the master bonecrafter work and sat on a bench in the work area, keeping out of the way but able to observe the process. Others also came to watch and were kept out of the work area by Cousin Horace and his dogs so that the bonecrafter and his assistant could work without interruption.

Creating memorial jewelry from the remains of loved ones was not unusual or morbid to Dunmer. Bonemold of itself was commonly made from animals and, yes, in times of war, from the bones of enemies or any nameless, faceless, unclaimed dead found lying about. The jewelry was merely a more artful way of having one's ancestors about in a form other than a dry finger bone or tooth. There was old magic there, a connection. Dunmer religion made use of these qualities in the known practice of ghost gates, the most famous being the great ghost gate that once surrounded Red Mountain to contain the Blight monsters and other demons from overrunning Vvardenfell.

Talented enchanters could sink a lot of magic into these tokens, especially magic that was sympathetic to the nature of the person whose body these tokens were made from. For example, if the person had been a healer in life, then one could set strong spells for health renewal, disease resistance, or other health boost qualities rather than, say, destruction magics. A second method of infusing magic, as Revyn was going to do — all with Antony's permission beforehand of course — the tokens would next be brought to a family shrine or home shrine and prayed over for a period of time to let the Ancestors, including the original user, infuse the token with magic of their choosing. The results were unpredictable in strength and effects. This was haunted jewelry by a partial, willing binding by the Ancestor in question whom the wearer (one hopes) had a good relation with.

It didn't take long to remill the bone grit to fine powder. The dragonfire had caused the bones to become especially brittle so that a second, longer firing in a kiln was not needed to bring the bones to a proper state of dryness. The bonecrafter remarked that the cremation dais would need repair since the dragonfire had caused parts of the concrete to crumble. It was good that the concrete had time to properly cure else the resulting explosion from the intense heat would not have been good. The bone dust and special resins were mixed and poured into a clay mold and then into the oven for an hour.

Revyn placed the carved sample the mold was created from — Antony had chosen the Imperial Dragon — and an example of a finished bonemold pendant into Helgird's hands. The example was a round disk, in the center a guar in full run, and enamel of melted glass of swirling colors. The enamel glass and final glaze were made from the ashes.

"I've noticed Nords have this fascination with displaying skulls as casual decoration," Revyn said. "The skulls of enemies theoretically. Does one even know the name, the origin of the skull or are they sold by the weight at some bizarre shop I've never heard of? But this, this is will be the mortal remains of a man with a name and a history. It is an organic soul gem and the nature of the man will dictate the nature of magic that can be infused into it. Most don't like it because it becomes sentient magic, because it's a beacon for ghosts. It can be a blessing if Antony likes you or a curse if he doesn't. The chanciness is what makes mysticism magic unpopular in schools."

"You are having four made," Helgird said, handing him back the pendant. "One each for the children, one for the wife, and one for you, right? Or might one go to the Dragonborn?"

"If my wife and her brother agree after talking with her, I will be giving mine to the Dragonborn. I believe Antony would rather wander about Skyrim with her than hang about a shop." The priestess laughed with him.

"Oh, let's see. What would a man of action do? Go out and slay dragons or watch you juggle numbers? But this is fascinating. We must talk more about your people's customs."

They went downhill to Yngol's Barrow where Scouts-Many-Marshes was waiting at the riverbank with his boat. He poled them to the dock and they went from there to Sadri's home.

+—+—+—+—+

Revyn woke, the remnants of a dream nagging him. He carefully untangled himself from his wife. She stirred and he stroked and dropped light kisses along her shoulders and neck until she sighed and wriggled deeper into the pillows with a sweet smile. He tucked the blankets tighter around her and rolled to the edge of the bed.

He went to the cellar. Hadrien was asleep on his bedroll. General Faro slept on the bed, clutching the pillow. Taliesin was at Revyn's desk, reading. He looked up but Revyn waived him to go back to his reading. Revyn pulled out a box of papers from a shelf. Copies of records from Winterhold on Helga Ansdotter. Copies of the murder investigation and trial records.

Helga Ansdotter. Her body had been recovered and sent to Winterhold. There had been no family to receive. A College senior student acting as an administrative assistant had signed for the delivery and immediately turned it over to grave diggers. No one to say prayers before being dumped into an unmarked grave.

No doubt there would be a lot of inquiries in Winterhold. College records were very clear that Helga Ansdotter had no known living family there. She had been brought there by her grandfather, an instructor in Restorations, and had become a ward of the College when he'd died and a search for relatives had turned up nothing. The Falkreath story would be backed by edited copies of records from the Helgen quartermaster who conveniently reported to Solitude's quartermaster. That was Tullius's contribution to the ruse.

He turned his head and stared at the home shrine, The Waiting Door. Following an impulse he went up to the semipacked bags in the shop. Among the enchanted jewelry he found a simple, round silver ring of healing. However, none of the medicinal herbs drew him. He went to the kitchen. Horace and Cadence had brought cooking spices from their home and among them was a bag of fragrant, dried leaves. He wrapped some of them into a swatch of silk after writing her name on one of the leaves and stuffed the bundle through the ring.

He'd give it a place in the shrine. If they were going to trade on her name, it seemed only fair to offer her a place in the house.

* * *

GalacticHalfling: (1) Party Favors: Easiest cop-out would be to claim that she was drunk, plastered, in vino veritas. So, yup, I'm taking that. Razelan wasn't the only one hitting the bottle for having to be there. Jarls Balgruuf and Idgrod were watching out for their drunken thane. (Drunks and spiders — good of her to think of those scrolls beforehand since she probably couldn't be trusted with a butter knife.) Orthos, who was telling the story, wouldn't necessarily be aware of her awkwardness. All he knew was that she was in disguise and acting out of character. The social awkwardness doesn't take the form of shyness, rather, misreading things like sarcasm, BS-ing, mockery, teasing, flirting, etc. Accepting face-value of anything said. That "oh, that's what they were really saying" feeling you get long after a proper response could or should have been made. (2) To be clear, Helga had no relation to Antony other than as an attending physician. Antony is abusing a dead, defenseless woman's name and reputation to birth a fictional daughter.

BlueEyre: Thank you. Sorry, the cast often runs amok.


	30. Walk With The Shadows

_Kungslick673: Thanks. Feedback always welcome._

 _Aurora Nova: Painted face masks & wig by Galathil the Face Sculptor + WYSWYG illusion effects by Taliesin — I think the confusion is in my writing the confrontation from the viewpoint of an audience member who didn't know the identity switch. E.g.: "Helsette shouldered her brother aside" is really "Gen. Faro shouldered her son aside." What is being seen is the play as it was meant to be seen by the audience._

 _GalacticHafling: Tough. The alternative is to go back to chucking their dead into whatever hole they can find in the woods because the local Nord cemetaries are closed to them. (Not all Dunmer burials are cremations, but it's a start for a formal center rather than a hole-in-the wall, scrabbling-for-space funeral parlor in the slums)._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

WALK WITH THE SHADOWS

"Ysgramor's Spoon." _It's a fork_. "Ah, but you didn't know Ysgramor."

"And you did?" Revyn said aloud, mocking the dry voice of the late Calixto, the previous owner of the place Revyn had taken over and was remodeling for his new shop. He put the "Spoon" aside. Nonmagical and no documentation to back up the wild claim.

The construction workers had gone for the day and Revyn was alone in the building. A quiet time doing inventory. A tedious but calming activity, taking inventory of a dead man's museum stock that had come with the building.

The gruesome, embalming equipment the mad Calixto used during his butchering spree were tossed into a box to be melted down. Calixto's diaries also went into that box. There was another box for the trash heap.

Some items had traces of magic he'd later consult with mages to determine the nature. Others with disturbing traces of malignant magic, like _The Dancer's Flute_ which "can cause a person to dance themselves to death," he'd send to the College of Winterhold. Here was another. _The Book of Fate_ , magical. Definitely Oblivion tainted. He looked and saw only blank pages. It came to mind that the pages wouldn't be blank if he held the book open for another to read. He noted that suggestion and tucked it into the book. The College's loremaster, Urag, should get a laugh out of that.

Salvageable items were the numerous alchemy ingredients and common household goods and clothes. The ones in better shape he'd keep for resale in his own shop and the rest to junk salvage shops. He was, after all, still in the business of selling used wares despite all the recent upheavals in his life.

 _You have a visitor_ , was the whispered thought. "Who's there?" he challenged, sensing but not seeing anyone. He set aside his writing board and stood up, one hand on his dagger and his other prepared to cast a ward spell.

"Just me, Uncle Revyn." A womer peeked out from what was once the bedroom.

"Karliah," Revyn said flatly. "What brings you back? Do you know how much trouble you left me in when you sold me all those stolen goods?" he demanded.

Her smile lit her unusual, exotic purple eyes. "You found a way out," she said, "as I knew you would. Papa always said you had a way of solving problems."

"Regardless. I am still so disappointed in you, Karliah. You knew I don't deal in stolen goods and I bought those items in good faith." Revyn sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. Karliah had the grace to look ashamed.

"I know. I, I needed money and— Yes, I know you would have loaned it to me," she said, stopping him before he could speak. "But believe me, I was balancing out consequences. A few days in jail and fines were nothing compared to what would happen if my enemies thought you were willingly aiding me."

"So you have something going on worth betraying a longstanding friendship." Revyn sighed. "Very well. I hope it was worth it. But why are you here now?"

"I'm here to warn you. You've managed to make Maven Black-Briar your enemy. She's set the Thieves' Guild on you. The current guildmaster is different. He won't shy off from killing if they aren't able to ruin you through the usual methods."

"It's no secret in Riften that Maven controls the Thieves' Guild." Revyn sat down and indicated Karliah should make herself comfortable. She sat near him, almost touching. He studied her, seeing the pretty, young daughter of a dear friend. His friend had been a traveling merchant peddling wares around The Rift and Eastmarch. He'd had an affair with a girl he'd met when selling items at her father's farm. They'd parted on good enough terms that he was allowed to know the child he'd sired, even allowed to take her along on trips to Windhelm when she was old enough, which was how Revyn had met Karliah. Sadly, the visits stopped when his friend died. Robbers. He'd see her from time to time in the following years and she'd usually have small gifts for him and little tales about farming and hunting in The Rift and he'd give her tips about sales and deal-making.

Then one day she'd come in with a sack full of items she claimed were payments received for a risky adventure. He'd been lulled by reminiscences and fondness for her and had bought the items, only later to realize not only where they stolen, they were stolen from within Windhelm and she was long gone.

She was tired, he could see. She was on the run. If she'd looked this bad when he'd last seen her, he would not have been so trusting. But he'd changed too since then and saw with deeper insight.

"There are shadows and then there are shadows," he said on a sigh and touched her knee. She tensed, staring at him with startled eyes. "I've not seen you in that armor before. It's almost but not quite Guild armor. That magic I'm sensing is daedric. I was rescued from the mess you left me in by an enchantress," he explained, smiling wryly. "An adventurer and an enchantress. I've learned a lot from her since then. I've especially learned in Apocrypha that sometimes walking in the shadows is the worst thing you can do.

"You're a fabled Nightingale. And this guildmaster who is a killer, he also one. The stories of the Guild's hard luck streak then is because he's offended your prince."

"Yes and yes. How could you know this, uncle?"

"My dear, you lost the privilege of calling me 'uncle,' when you sold me the stolen goods. However, I'm still an old, sentimental fool and you did come to warn me. If you still need help, if my regard has any worth to you, come home with me and meet my wife and her family. You almost ruined me, but she saved me. She might be able to help you if you've got something to bargain with.

"While you're thinking about it, here, sort these books for me, please, for condition. The poorer ones put in that box; spellbooks, alchemy and necromancy books, put there; and the rest for my shop."

Karliah declined to follow him home that evening but promised to show up for lunch. He was pleased when she did show up. He'd already told his wife and the family about her and warned them not to scare her off; the poor thing was in enough trouble. "This is Karliah," he announced, taking her hand and pulling her forward into the kitchen. "Karliah, this is my beloved Helsette, her brother, Taliesin, their mother, Innana, and their cousins, Cadence and Harold."

They smiled and she tensed, a skinny alley-cat introduced to wolves.

Helsette came up and took Karliah's hand. "So, you're the one I owe my good fortune to," she said. Karliah's face showed her surprise. "I'd been courting my old man for some time but couldn't get him to look at me. Then you tripped him up and I caught him. So. I feel I owe you."

Karliah tried to pull her hand free but couldn't. The younger womer's grip was still gentle but unbreakable. "I, it was a mistake. I needed money fast for another deal and I knew he'd be generous with his price because he was sentimental so I... I should go."

"After lunch," Helsette said firmly. "And I also want to know what that Maven bitch thinks to gain by ruining my husband." She guided Karliah to the table. She sat in a chair and pulled Karliah down into another.

Karliah rapidly began listing her findings. "She tried to get Vittoria Vici to expand into the Rift with her in control as the official agent. Vittoria refused, citing sources. Maven got hold of a copy of the source, a letter written by the Dragonborn's steward who quotes your advice, unc-, um, your advice, sir, against investments by the Dragonborn in Riften because of Black-Briar corruption. Vittoria has also begun turning Asgeir against her. He's been withdrawing his investment and moving to separate himself from the partnership. His family backs him. They may not like that he's married to an Imperial, but at least that Imperial has always been honest about her loyalties while the rumors that Maven's playing both sides of the war are growing. Without him to manage the day-to-day business affairs, she's knows she faces further losses if she dares entrust what's left to either of her incompetent sons. Then with the loss of control over Honorhall and it moving out to Whiterun under the Dragonborn's patronage, other, uglier facts have come to light. Maven found out you got the Dragonborn's steward her post, that the man who's been spearheading the move to Whiterun is the steward's father and the hero who destroyed the Dark Brotherhood, and that the smart girl helping both of them lately is a former Honorhall orphan who also happens to be your apprentice. She's blaming you for the blows to her reputation.

"She has other problems, business problems besides Asgeir's defection, that I've set up. But she can't find me while you are quite easy to locate and go after. I had to warn you."

"I am grateful for the sentiment, my dear." Revyn dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. "Maven has only herself to blame for her troubles. But I am now curious as to why you are trying to strike at her. They boast it on the streets in Riften that she has the Guild in her pocket. What has she done to earn your hatred and scheming when she is the Guild's biggest customer?"

Karliah managed to tug her hand free from Helsette and started to stand up, but Taliesin pushed her back down. "The Guildmaster been sleeping with Black-Briar. She gave him Riftweald Manor and probably encouraged his greed and promised that if he took over the Guild, she'd push more money his way," he said, laughing. "I've been looking into the decline of Skyrim's Thieves Guild for my friend, the Gray Fox of Cyrodiil. The Fox has been wondering why he hasn't heard from the Skyrim Guild since the murder of his friend, Gallus Desidenius, by the hand of Nightingale Karliah."

"You do have the strangest friends, my son." Mother Innana said, disapproving.

"Thank you, mother. How else was I going to study Nocturnal's cowl? Anyway, the Guildmaster's name is Mercer Frey, a very elusive man who lets me, a complete stranger, dance in and out of his guild without challenge. The Guildmaster isn't a guard dog, but still. All he does is bark orders through his second, a silver-tongued huckster named Brynjolf. Mercer hasn't even bothered to try to rebuild the Trinity of Nightingales. A very good indication that he isn't in favor with Nocturnal."

"So we have the target," said Horace.

"Now we require the nature of the beast," said Cadence.

Karliah blanched as they all looked at her.

At last Mother Innana said, "The food is getting cold and I'm hungry. We can talk more about this after we eat. Tally, cutlery. Helsette, pass out the plates. Horace, a glass of white wine, please. Karliah, we aren't interested in the secrets of the Nightingales, just Frey's. His motives and skill sets. Why he killed Gallus and why he blamed you. And then I want to know what you have been doing to avenge the murder and prove your innocence. And, Revyn, dear, do think of a gift we can give to Mephala. I expect this little tale of sex, lies, betrayal, and secret murders is something to amuse her."

"Perhaps, sera. If Frey has changed his allegiance to Mephala..."

Mother Innana laughed, a soft, throaty sound that was oddly menacing. "He hasn't. I'm sure this was all strictly for his own benefit. Greed is still his prime motivation. Now, come on, let's eat."

+—+—+—+—+

She had only intended to warn him of the danger, trusting that his wife with the fearsome reputation would be enough to protect him just a little while longer until her own plan could be enacted. It was too bad she'd burned his trust selling him the stolen goods. Her plan to undermine Maven Black-Briar by buying out her suppliers, funding her competition — she could have used her Uncle Revyn's help. He'd succeeded in pushing Black-Briar to desperation without even trying and it had the desired effect. Maven was pushing Mercer from his entrenched hiding to deal with her enemies. Problem is, instead of flogging at the remaining guild members and further alienating them by making them chase shadows, they all had one clear target. Just how much did she dare tell them?

Thieves, Karliah was learning, had such a broad definition. Her uncle had patted her head and told her her initial work with Honningbrew Meadery and the Goldenglow Estates was an excellent effort in upsetting Black-Briar's operations. But it was now time to step aside and let the experts handle this. "Hostile takeover" or "commercial piracy" they called it.

Cousin Horace would go to Whiterun to buy out Honningbrew. He was sure one of his children would be willing to move to Skyrim to manage the new family venture. A letter from Revyn gave him access to accounts in Whiterun. They also bought from Karliah Goldenglow Estate. Cousin Cadence and the dogs would to the Goldenglow Estate to promise the timid Aringoth, the former owner, a fat contract to manage one of the honey estates the Felix's owned in far-away Colovia. Goldenglow would make a perfect wedding gift to a niece who was marrying a young man who would adore hunting and fishing in the Rift. He also headed a group of professional mercenaries who specialized in escort and security. Revyn suggested they also buy the land and fort known as Faldor's Tooth which had a commanding, tactical view of the surrounding area and of Goldenglow. Revyn again provided the money by tapping into accounts he had for Rift and Eastmarch ventures.

Walk with the shadows. Her honorary uncle certainly has been doing that since she last saw him. His wife had a name and reputation that would grow even bigger now that it was recently revealed that she was the half-sister of the Dragonborn. As she listened, she learned that her dear uncle walked happily in his wife's shadow. She got the glory and obtained the initial wealth in her adventuring, but her purse she handed to Uncle Revyn to quietly resow the purse into greater wealth.

Helsette took Gallus's journal that Karliah had carried since his death at Snow Veil Sanctum, a ruin southeast of Winterhold, saying she recognized Falmer writing. She'd seen enough of them in underground Dwemer ruins. She was also familiar with the ruins, having scouted the area around it but not able to get inside to explore. She was certain Wizard Calcelmo of Markarth or Loremaster Urag of Winterhold College would be able to translate. Karliah said that Mage Enthir was Gallus's trusted friend, the only outsider Gallus trusted with his identity as a Nightingale. He would help her if she tried the College first since it was on this side of the country. Helsette's delighted smile was unnerving and Karliah hoped she hadn't called down trouble on the Bosmer mage.

For Mother Innana it was time to return home with her husband's ashes. Once there she would see that funds from the Felix Family coffers would be sent to repay Revyn, and she would let the children in question know to get ready to move to Skyrim, especially the boy with the mercenary troop.

Now for the Thieves Guild. Revyn had come up from his meditations at his home shrine and had reluctantly announced that the Trinity needed to be restored if Karliah wanted to avenge Nightingale Gallus and bring justice on Mercer and restore the Guild. Now that was a bit harder. All jokes aside from his family, Taliesin wasn't interested in joining the Guild or pledging himself to Nocturnal. Besides, his trip back to Morrowind to search for the family's missing godfather was long overdue. No, Karliah had to find two others to induct as Nightingales.

It was a given that as Nocturnal's agents they had certain gifts. Gifts which Karliah wouldn't tell them. That was to be expected and fine. It just meant that if she wanted to confront Mercer, who also had those same gifts as well as the powers given by whatever daedric artifact he had stolen from Nocturnal — which Revyn deduced had to be the Key, one of four known artifacts, the others being the Eye of Nocturnal in the shrine in Leyewiin, The Bow of Shadows in the Museum of Artifacts in Mournhold, and the Gray Cowl held by the Gray Fox, the master of the Thieves' Guild Cyrodiil — then only a full Trinity of Nightingales had a chance against him.

Karliah thought Brynjolf, the current Guild's second could become a Nightingale. It probably wasn't something he'd want and would need persuading, but he was fiercely loyal to the Guild and proof from Gallus's journal would be the boost to get him to make the ultimate pledge to Nocturnal. But who would be the third?

Uncle Revyn (he had forgiven her and allowed her to again call him "uncle") scowled but reluctantly suggested she check out an abandoned mining camp west of Windhelm. The Uttering Hills mine. A friend of his had followed a grave robber to find a new group of thieves had set themselves up there. It had previously been the camp of bandits that the Armiger of the Gray Quarter (Helsette) had cleared out a couple years back. His friend had reported it to Revyn, thinking Helsette would want to know to take care of when she had the time. The group seemed to be the nonviolent type, preferring theft and graverobbing. Karliah wondered about their professionalism if their lair was found out so easily by a half-drunk farmhand taking a piss in a Nord graveyard, but she was also curious what kind of balls would make a group of Altmer thieves set themselves up in Stormcloak home territory. If Karliah wanted more info, Revyn told her to talk to Niranye, the Altmer general goods merchant with a stall in the Stone Quarter.

"I've a perfect test for this Altmer thief," said Taliesin. "When I was I was in Riften I came across this crazy Argonian who kept raving about a Dwemer curse laid on her when she and a colleague and two thieves went into a Dwemer ruin after an artifact. A Dwemer lexicon. She was the only survivor. She got the lexicon but found out she couldn't handle the knowledge it kept trying to feed into her mind, which explained the crazy part. She begged me to return it to Avunchnzel and put the accursed thing back. I got that the thieves they hired were rather incompetent and there were many rooms and storage boxes and safes they couldn't unlock so the place still has its treasures. Of course, being a Dwemer ruin, there's the usual automatons and traps and Falmer. Plenty of opportunities to show off sneak and fighting skills.

"I'm leaving in three days. Talk the Altmer into this. We'll all go to the Rift and to this Ruin. Let's see if he truly has the skills to make it. You can keep the treasure. I just want to return the lexicon. After that, I'm going to Stonefalls and to Mournhold."

"When you're done there, go to Goldenglow," said Helsette to Karliah. "I'll meet you there with the translation. You're on your own after that. I've got business with the Dawnguard I need to get back to."

Karliah shuddered. Vampires. As uncle had said, there were shadows and then there were shadows. Vampires were children of a darkness she wanted nothing to do with. No, she had her own vampire to pursue and his name was Mercer Frey.

For all this, if it all succeeded, the payoff for the Uncle Revyn and his family was Guild protection for Uncle Revyn's shop, Honningbrew, Goldenglow, Sauranach Mine in The Reach, and Severin Manor in Solstheim.

Lunchtime was over. It was time to see if the leader of the Summerset Shadows was a bird that could sing.


	31. Gray Guards

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

GRAY GUARDS

Mikel Anvil had head the slums of Windhelm was a shithole. Eh. He'd seen worse in Riften. Sewage here may flow down the street gutters into the Gray Quarter but in Riften the town lived over its own open waterway of sewage. Not that he'd had to live in Riften, thank gods. The two times he'd had to visit accompanying food shipments to market was quite enough. He reluctantly, wistfully recalled the sprawling farm community where his da had been the blacksmith and his ma the local healer for animals and people.

Thirty-odd souls had lived on that farm. All gone in a battle between Imperials and Stormcloaks. Only the Stormcloaks had hung around in the aftermath and offered aid to the survivors. And Mikel, his parents dead, had joined the Stormcloaks. He had been a tall, gangly 15 then. As a local who knew the area, he was darn good scout for all his size, but it was his smithing and herbal skills that had made him most useful. Still, he'd seen his share of fighting.

The last, notable one that had gotten him to Windhelm was when an Imperial troop had found their Stormcloak camp. Most of the fighters were out, leaving barebones staff and injured at the camp. Mikel was working on repairing armor. When one of the kids out gathering firewood had bolted back to warn of approaching Imperials, Mikel had taken charge and gotten injured and noncombatants into hiding and then he'd turned the attack around. As a reward or sorts he was sent to Windhelm for officer training. That was two months ago.

A month of that and he quit the Stormcloaks. He was mad at the Imperials and at life in general, but he wasn't that mad. Call him milk-drinker all they want but separating Skyrim, isolating it from the rest of the world was not a solution. Blaming all outsiders...

All he could do was not be a part of it. Most people just wanted to lead their little lives. He did too. And he needed money. So he joined the Windhelm city guards. Easiest job to find and they were always recruiting because they kept losing people to the army. The guards welcomed him quick enough but they knew he'd argued a lot with his trainers about the core Stormcloak philosophies, so they assigned him the worst patrol which was the Gray Quarter.

In a city of about 10,000, the Gray Quarter held a third of the population. The immigrant dark elves were only permitted to live here. So there were thousands crowded into decrepit buildings. The streets were narrow and sewage flowed in open gutters downhill from the upper, wealthier districts. There would be no patrols here at all if it weren't for the fact that traffic and goods from the dock had to come through here so most his duties was to make sure nothing impeded that. The rest of the Quarter was the suburb of Oblivion for all that anyone else cared.

Then a half year ago the Jarl created a new position in his court, Steward of the Gray Quarter, and appointed a shopkeeper to the position. He was given a token budget and made responsible for everything there — taxes, crime, upkeep, sanitation, and that included the Argonians that lived outside the city on the docks.

One of the first odd choices for civic improvements were the lampposts. Tall, thin poles of something called bonemold topped with strange, magic lights under domed caps that directed the unearthly glow to the streets, lighting them to full daylight. Walking from the upper city to the Quarter was like descending from depressing gray, cloud-cover to daylight in the Rift. Mikel actually found himself looking forward to patrols just for the light and the lift in his mood. The elves also seemed livelier and didn't match what older veterans of the guards told him of sullen, moody elves.

The lights also unmercifully showed up the decay and the garbage. You had to be seriously in denial and apathetic to ignore the condition. And it seemed the dark elves were finally getting sick of waiting for someone else to fix their problems.

He wasn't sure about the work gangs. One of the big things the shopkeeper had instituted was community service as prison sentences. Prisoners tore up and repaved streets and dug new sewage drains. They did emergency repairs on dangerous buildings. They hauled rubbish. Mikel winced recalling the horrific skill one Gray Guard showed with a whip when one of the prisoners deliberately threw a load of bricks at some idiot who thought it would be fun to taunt the them. After disciplining the brick thrower, the guard arrested the first troublemaker. After being treated for injuries he'd be joining prisoners the next day for a few hours paying off a fine for obstruction of justice and paying off a healer's fee.

Brutal but effective. Repairs were getting done. Using a prison workforce seemed reasonable in light of the fact that funds so far came out of the shopkeeper's own pocket, from raw materials to the uniforms and batons for the Gray Guards. Taxes taken from the Gray Quarter, as usual, went to the Jarl who doled out funds for civic projects. Traditionally, the Gray Quarter got nothing. They hadn't for the past century.

He was getting hungry. He wandered to the market area that had been growing ever since the streets there had been cleaned up. The dark elf food smelled strange and tasted different. He didn't dare ask what he was eating, but once he got used to the strange spices, it was quite good and, more importantly, cheap. The scrib jelly rolls were his favorite, an odd, meaty tang but sweet without being cloyingly so. The breaded nix-hound sausages on a stick was also great.

Yelling. A thief. Whoops. Thief down. The nearby Gray Guard work overseer's wicked whip had kissed the thief's face, causing him to stumble. Nearby elves held him down. Mikel sauntered over seeing that the thief was a Nord. Stolen bread and a string of sausages scattered on the street. "Not worth the paperwork," Mikel said, shrugging. "Suggest you cooperate with the local justice," he told the thief. "They'll feed you, friend, fix your face and give you a few hours of work. I saw some ice blockage that needs clearing in the sewer lines from Valunstrad. Or, if you insist on the Jarl's justice, 20-septim fine in addition to the 40 septim's worth of food you stole and two days in a cold cell, or if you can't pay the fine a day for every septim and bread and water once a day. If you fuss enough, we might give you a clean cloth to wash your face with but you'll have to use the water from your daily ration."

One of the Gray Guards who had appeared snorted and asked, "Well? Us or the Jarl's justice." The thief swore but decided for Gray Quarter justice. Nevertheless, Mikel accompanied the Gray Guards to their headquarters, an aging warehouse in the midst of repairs, and wrote up charges and signed his name. If the Nord refused to cooperate, they could present that sheet to City Guards and Mikel would back it.

Mikel nodded affably to the elf guards and wandered towards the New Gnisis Cornerclub. City guards liked it because it was cheap and the drinks weren't watered down like at Candlehearth Hall. It was also a hell of a lot nicer than Candlehearth.

New, decorative paneling, more magic lights, long planters along the walls. It was like an outdoor patio brought inside. A staircase along the back wall led to the owner's private quarters and to the kitchen from which came delicious, light meals. A staircase along a side wall led up to open rooms that could be rented.

The owner was an elderly dark elf with red hair bound together high on his skull. He had an attitude towards Nords but at least he kept the same price list no matter your race. Word on street was he was one-third of the trinity ruling the Gray Quarter. The chief, of course, being the shopkeeper, and the other third was the woman who was running the community services center next to the Gray Guards headquarters.

The red-eyed devils had this thing about threesomes. Three daedra gods, three god-kings, now three civic leaders.

Or maybe it was four. The shopkeeper had a wife but she wasn't around much. She was a mercenary and enchantress with an awesome reputation from Winterhold to The Rift. No doubt the lights were her creation. And everyone knew she was the half-sister of the Dragonborn and her parents heroes in the Great War. The gossip around her said she was thane in three Holds and that her adventures made her incredibly wealthy.

For the longest time no one knew why a young, talented beauty wasted herself on an old man who ran a pawnshop in the slums. When finally one of the Jarl's cronies outed her on her parentage and her titles in enemy Holds, it also came to light that the mousy shopkeeper meekly holding his wife's purse had been turning her prize monies into a plush trade empire. The Jarl had been right quick to snap a civil servant's collar on him and to make sure city's treasury had access to all that wealth as well as saddle him with the responsibility for darkest and poorest section of the city.

One of the few instances of brilliance in this whole sad war was Mikel's thought. He rounded his patrol out at the the Gray Quarter smithy to buy some chitin arrows that were almost as good as iron arrows and at a better price. He had tommorow off and needed to hunt at least two weeks' supply of food.

+—+—+—+—+

He heard screaming. He dropped the rabbits and pheasants, the sacks of berries and mudcrabs and ran towards the noise. He had only six arrows left, his bear spear, and his hunting knife. No armor, just a hip-length fur-lined leather jerkin over regular clothes.

A group of six dark elves coming from Refugees' Rest. Funeral party by their clothes. Being attached by — gods — two hellhounds and a trio of vampires. For a moment he hesitated. He didn't have any magic or silver weapons. The elves were using magic to defend themselves. The strongest of the magic users was trying to attract the attention of the vampires. Another, holding the hands of two children, was trying to make a run for it but the hounds were targeting them.

He charged, yelling and drawing his bow. His shots went wide but the hounds turned to him. He readied his spear. Got its butt braced on the ground and its tip tilted to meet the body of the first hound to jump at him. The hound spitted itself. The long leaf blade easily sliding into ribs, the widening lower half of the blade spreading and cracking ribs. The wings below the blade stopped the body from sliding any further down the pole. Mikel hoisted the spear, turning to slam the body against the ground. He stomped on the thing's guts and tore the spear out with a twisting move. Serrations on the broad base of the blade tore its lungs out. He swung a wide arc from his left around to right and back, slashing the second beast that was jumping at right rear flank of him. It twisted away, circling and snarling.

"Come on, doggy, come to papa. I've got a nice stick you can fetch right here," he taunted, thrusting and waving the bloody tip under its nose. He deliberately let the tip go wide. The hound leaped and Mikel shoved the thick oak shaft broadside into its mouth. The jaw snapped close. Mikel twisted right and used his weight and the hound's momentum to bring it to the ground. Its filthy nails pawed and ripped his leather jerkin. He knee-dropped on its ribs while releasing the spear with his right to draw his hunting knife. Stabbed the hound until it stopped moving.

Damnation. The magic wielding elf had fallen and was being resurrected to turn her magic upon her own family. Mikel roared again and charged, slashing, the long spearhead separating the poor elf's head from her body and both parts crumbled to ash.

The vampire turned its blood-sucking magic on him. He stumbled and nearly fell, but snarling and calling on his ancestors and Talos for strength he surged forward and speared the monster. it shrieked, dropped its sword and clutched at the shaft. Mikel twisted the spear, hefted its body high, and with all his might hammered it head first into the ground. The cracking of its neck and skull was sweet to hear.

A gout of flame took the second vampire leaping for him. Mikel let go his spear, scooped up the vampire's dropped sword, and swung at the flailing, flaming monster, cutting it in half. The third vampire screamed a curse but ran away.

Mikel fell to his knees, exhausted and fighting the blackness threatening to overtake him.

Someone was urging him to drink something in a bottle. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus of the tearful face of an elf woman.

The guard and one of the attendants at Refugees' Rest had also been drawn out by the sounds of fighting. They gathered the survivors and between them they managed to heft Mikel's six-foot-five frame up and support him until he was able to stumble along on his own behind them. They all retreated back to the tower to be treated. They would be allowed to stay the night, also to be watched for any signs of infection from the foul creatures.

The kids were fine, their mother was fine. The one he'd been forced to give a second death to had been the widow of the one whose funeral they'd come from. The other two were friends of the family. One had the infection and was praying for a cure at the altar of one of their daedric gods. Mikel also was infected but he wasn't sure he wanted to pray to a daedra, no disrespect intended.

No problem. The attendants had lit three fires at the top of the tower. Within a couple of hours four Gray Guards from Windhelm came running in response to the distress beacon. Three went hunting for the vampire and the remaining one stood guard over Mikel until he recovered enough strength to travel back to Windhelm. On the walk back they recovered Mikel's spear and knife. Unfortunately, a troll had found Mikel's hunting bags.

His elf escort assured him there would be compensation. Mikel hoped so. He was feeling awfully hungry. That got the elf urging him even faster to Windhelm then dragging him into the Temple of Talos when all Mikel wanted to do was find the nearest butcher stall and buy the freshest, bloodiest piece of meat there and maybe even a bucket of blood for gravy. On second thought, forget the meat, just the bucket of blood would be fine.

He woke in his own room. It was actually warm in this rat trap attic above the tannery. Probably due to the elf tending to an odd cooking setup in the center of the room. The rickety table that originally sat there had been pushed aside. In its place was a tripod holding an ordinary iron cooking pot. Below it, glowing with heat, was a stone bowl. Mikel could vaguely see through the dancing tongues of fire the runes carved into the bowl. Whatever was in the pot smelled delicious even through the fumes from the tannery below.

The elf was an elderly one with shoulder-length white hair braided on the sides and the braids brought together at the back of his head by a ruby brooch. His sharp jawline softened by a neatly trimmed white beard on upper lip and chin. He wore the insect armor but instead of a helmet there was a fur-trimmed leather cap hanging off a chair back. He had the Gray Guard baton and also a shortsword.

"Feeling better, son?"

"Much better, grampa," Mikel replied sarcastically. He swung his legs to the floor as he sat up. "Who are you?"

"Veryn Avehan, commander of the Gray Guards." He brought a cup of tea to Mikel. The tea was unfamiliar, smelled faintly of pine and grass, and quickly settled the dull, pounding headache. Next came a bowl of stew. Grilled, tender venison with potatoes, leeks, mushrooms, carrots, and slightly salty, tiny, white grains. "The Gammesu family sends their thanks and hopes you will visit them so that they can thank you in person."

"One of them died. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it," Mikel mumbled.

"She's with her husband and you saved her daughter and grandchildren. You also gave her soul swift delivery from a vampire's foul binding. No regrets." The elf picked up the bear spear. It was nearly twice his height. The shininess of the blade showed the elves had resharpened it. "A fearsome weapon for a Nord giant," he commented. "But you normally carry a greatsword on patrol."

Mikel shrugged. "Standard issue weapon. I prefer the spear. More useful in hunting. More useful in general."

"For one of your reach and strength, faster and deadlier too." The elf pulled a chair closer to Mikel's bed and sat on it. "We've been watching you for a while and for certain after this we offer a proposition. We want you for the Gray Guards."

Mikel didn't answer right away. He finished off the bowl and held it out for a second serving. He slowly picked out the fly amanita mushrooms to eat first. They'd been treated with some unknown spice that heightened its meatiness. "You want me to quit the City Guards to work for you?"

"Not quite. We want you to take over Sergeant Henrick's job as the mandatory Nord commander of the Gray Guards. Technically, I would be your second."

"I've only been with the Guards a month. Why would they boot a ten-year veteran out of his cushy job for a raw recruit? He's quite the criminal catcher."

The elf smiled without humor. "We catch them, he takes credit for them because they're the type we have no authority to pass judgment on. This we really don't have problems with. What we do have problems with is when we need to take in non-Dunmer and we need his approval. They aren't worth any measure of glory so he dismisses the paperwork and we have to let them go. You, however, have consistently shown your willingness to back us, like with that petty food thief."

"Five times is hardly a record. What else earns me your regard?"

"We've checked your past. Your worth as a warrior and taking big risks got you here. You're an idealist, but you also are willing to acknowledge when your ideals are wrong. You seem an ally worth cultivating."

Mikel considered this as he ate. "Aye," he said at last. "But what makes you think Commander Arendsson will let me take that position?"

"Steward Sadri has some pull there. He can demand it. You probably will get a promotion to corporal at most and only a corporal's pay. But once you're with us we can offer you compensation such as the Gray Guards get. We are an all-volunteer force after all. This isn't a full-time job, except for me. Even then I don't draw a wage but live off savings I've accumulated over the past centuries. Everyone else is half days or a few days a week and then in their off-times they're working paying jobs or going to school.

"The Guards are compensated in discounts with Dunmer merchants, free training for weapons and defensive magics, of course, and other social skills such as reading, writing, other languages, basic law and finances. Free services of Guard healers for guards and their immediate family. Many trades and crafters also offer reduced prices, first consideration for apprenticeships and reduced fees for tutoring. As a result we draw many of the young to service. The average age for patrol guards is around 27. That's rought between 18 and 22 in human years. Old ones like me are trainers or are prison guards, workgang overseers, administrators.

"We can also find you better accommodations if you don't mind living the Quarter. But if you prefer not, you can at least get reduced prices for materials and carpenters to make repairs."

"And for all that you want me to do Henrick's job. You do know he was also suppose to spy on your people," Mikel felt obliged to point out.

"Of course we know," said the elf, grinning. "All we ask is that your reports are accurate, non-biased, and made with some effort of understanding our ways."

"How long do I have to consider this offer?"

"You have time. Sadri isn't back in town until next week. But why don't you come by Sadri's house on your next patrol and I'll introduce you to Ambarys, Elani and some other... spirits who need to look you over to support my proposition. If you decide to accept, and they approve, we can get paperwork started right away and have them ready for Sadri to sign as soon as he returns."

"Alright. If you can actually swing it, I'd be willing to make a go at it."

"Excellent. I have a good feeling about you, Mikel Anvil. I do believe you'll be a bright fire in the Quarter."


	32. Mushrooms

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

MUSHROOMS

"I would call this wing certainly fit for an emperor," said Revyn, give one last admiring look at the entry room of the newly remodeled Pelagius Wing. Last time he was here it was full of cobwebs, dust, decrepit furniture from the last era, and the Mad God having tea with the mad Emperor Pelagius.

"Couldn't have done it without you, friend. Nary a sound or apparition since you lifted the curse. The priests say whatever restless soul that haunted here is gone and Mage Stentor can no longer detect the presence of any daedra," said Falk Firebeard, Steward of Solitude.

Firebeard gave Revyn a tardy reward for clearing the ghost-riddled wing of the palace along with rental fees for use of Proudspire Manor to house other noble guests that couldn't fit into the Pelagius Wing.

+—+—+—+—+

A colony of Dunmer hadn't been planned. It just happened. Such was the Telvanni way. As usual, it started with just one Telvanni wizard (actually, she's Hlaalu but a Telvanni mage-lord coopted her to his House). Spellsword Faro wandered in, killed a nest of vampires, did a few other favors, and Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone made her a thane. The new thane bought land and, after her assigned housecarl proved himself to her after a few adventures, made him her steward and had her husband give him a generous purse with which to build her Windstad Manor. Once it was built the thane's husband, who lived in distant Windhelm, sent a Telvanni clerk to handle business ventures. The Telvanni clerk raved about opportunities to his wife and friends in Solstheim and Morrowind. When his wife finally finished her duties on Solstheim and came to join him, she came with a small village of immigrants willing to serve the new rising power of the Telvanni and, by extension, the Jarl of Morthal.

Housing all of them would have been difficult but for a young pair of adept Telvanni wizards among them who specialized in mycology and whose first job was to grow the pod homes around Windstad Manor and then the main mushroom tower. In a matter of days an entire village sprouted. More land was bought and the original Windstad Manor was converted to offices where business was conducted and the point where items were shipped and received.

The main business of the community were alchemical ingredients and potions. Morthal's swamps were rich with potent ingredients and the shallows of Drajkmyr Marsh perfect for raising numerous species in the fish pens. The College of Winterhold had three Restoration students there studying alchemy with one of them doing a secondary apprenticeship with Mage Falion in Morthal on vampires.

The secondary business were the tourists. Something in the marshes of Morthal altered the nature of the mushrooms so that they glowed in the dark. It made streetlamps unnnecessary and it made for a nice side industry. Telvanni and "encroaching, magic mushrooms" jokes were rampant.

Fortunately, Jarl Idgrod's peculiar sense of humor took no offense. The sudden population growth was also bringing in new wealth to her Hold. Plus, she had use of the tower whenever she visited.

Revyn and the jarl were watching the sunset from the veranda that girdled the stalk of the great tower. Mushrooms were a Telvanni thing but he found he oddly enjoyed it once he got used to the vegetable smell that one should expect when making a home inside a living plant. The glowing effect was fortunately only confined to the outerskin of the mushroom so inhabitants weren't annoyed by inside lights that never turn off. And the jarl, who'd lived all her life in a damp swamp, appreciated the way the living house regulated internal humidity and temperature and filtered air. She also enjoyed the magical "lift" that made it so easy to rise four stories off the ground.

"Katariah. Brilliant woman. A pity her blood couldn't continue in the Imperial line. But then, with such a whittle as Pelagius as a husband, it was no wonder their son was a sickly thing that couldn't live even two years after he was crowned," Jarl Idgrod remarked as they watched the Emperor's ship, the Katariah, gliding under the stone archway of Solitude.

"According to the 8th volume of _The Wolf Queen_ , during the siege of Solitude, when Queen Potema was making her last stand, a 12-year-old Pelagius was wandering about town doing some shopping and looking for gifts to buy. He was found by a disguised Queen Potema who gave him a soul gem filled with a soul of a demon werewolf. It is said to be the cause of his madness as his young mind was gradually warped by the malevolence in the gift," said Revyn. "I think I have the full set somewhere here. I prefer to think it a true account and much more believable than the idiocy that mixing Mer and Man blood produces inferior, mad offspring. There's a whole nation of Bretons who would dispute that.

"In any case, it was a brilliant move, to send assassins to kill Empress Katariah while she was touring Black Marsh," said Revyn clinically. "Keeps Dunmer and Argonians at each other's throats and no protests from Morrowind while the Elder Council purged mer blood from the Septim line. The Council was never happy that Magnus Septim took an Altmer as his Empress even though the Direnni bloodline is well respected in both Summerset and High Rock. Bringing in Dunmer blood, even one as old and powerful as the Ra'athim of Ebonheart, was seen as bringing back the Mer to lord it over Man. The Elder Council was quick to champion an insignificant, 'unpolluted' branch of the Septim line to the throne.

"Speaking of bloodlines, my jarl, may I express some thoughts about Joric?" Revyn asked diffidently.

"About time," said the jarl, amusement sparking in her black eyes. "My thane has been urging that my son meet with you, but you understand I was never going to send my son to Windhelm. I also understand your freedom has been, hm, restrained by your new duties as a steward of Windhelm. But she had mentioned the possibility of my son visiting Winterhold under her protection as the Archmage and that you would be able to travel there as Winterhold is Stormcloak friendly."

"Ah, but the jarl there is not friendly to Dunmer or to mages. Nor do I have any business in Winterhold unless I claim a religious pilgrimage to the shrine of Azura. It was hard enough to get Jarl Ulfric's permission to come here at this time. I will be closely questioned when I return. I was also invited to attend the welcoming gala for the Emperor in my wife's place, but had to decline for the same reason of having to return to Windhelm."

Revyn refilled his wineglass and looked down towards the fish pens. A group of children were there casting nets. Among them the jarl's youngest, Joric, was learning to balance on a boat and being instructed on how to clean fish. The Telvanni children had no fear about his unusual powers. To them it was the way of things that their noble class wielded magics, the Telvanni motto being, "The forceful expression of will gives true honor to the Ancestors." And it was always good practice to get on the good side of power early on.

Joric's wild, untamed powers was something he sensed as soon as the lad had stepped onto Windstad territory. Revyn thought he could help some but in the long run the boy's erratic control needed someone more knowledgeable, skilled, and powerful to suppress the boy's gifts until he was able to control them himself. And before even that there was a massive amount of work to undo all the Nord inhibitions and fears thrust upon the boy's spirit by his own culture and the people who had surrounded him from birth. Here among the Telvanni he was finding friends. The two local wizards were also willing to tutor him for a time although they cautioned that the child would soon need a master in spiritualism or mysticism but, with the Tribunal no longer in existence, they were at a loss of where to look in Skyrim.

"What I am proposing is that Joric take up residence here." Revyn waved his hand around, indicating the village below. "Live in this tower of course or a room can be set aside in Windstad Manor below if he is more comfortable there. Valdimar can watch over him. As a Nord spellsword he has no prejudice about other Nords using magic. But I primarily believe the lad needs to be with others who do not consider him — forgive me — an unnatural freak for the gifts of your line. He cannot learn until he trusts that he can be accepted for what he is."

"And what is he?" asked the jarl dryly.

"In part, what I am often accused of being. A ghost talker. A Listener who hears what shouldn't be heard by mortals. And by 'Listener' I do not at all infer any association with the Dark Brotherhood. But despite my beloved's confidence, I am not a fit teacher. I'm able enough with my kitchen knife skills but your son came with a greatsword. Still, I can introduce him to some basic meditations which I invite you to participate in. Lead by example if you will. It should help you two to connect and your experience should help alleviate some of his confusion."

"Ah, but I am as untrained as he," said the jarl. Despite herself she looked intrigued.

"You have life experience and a mother's love and will to protect your son. And he is still young enough and innocent enough to trust you without question so that we can temporarily shift some of the burden of his gift to you. Brute force control must do for now until I can find a suitable teacher. The two wizards here should be able to help you manage along because you have not only the intelligence but the maturity to understand the concepts they teach to control power."

"I'll talk to my son tonight. We can begin tomorrow."

+—+—+—+—+

Later that evening Revyn was reviewing invitations. Most of the party invitations were from Solitude upper class and nobles seeking to curry favor with the wealthy but elusive Thane Faro by inviting her commoner husband to their gatherings. The only one he did decide to accept was from the Count of Cascabel who also expressed a desire of distributing his apple wines through the Felix trade house. Revyn was interested in meeting him. The book, _The Rear Guard_ , detailing the rise of a Bosmer mercenary to the position of Cascabel's lord, was one of his and his wife's favorites. This Count was that mercenary's son. Speaking of which…

"If you would be so kind, there's a cabinet of wines on the left. Third row down, apple ice wine. Wine cups are in the cupboard below. Feel free to partake," he said aloud while he penned an acceptance to the Count of Cascabel. Moments later a pale golden hand placed a goblet at his right.

"Thank you." Revyn sanded off the reply and then turned in his chair to look up at the Altmer. For the shorter, slender shadow behind the Altmer Revyn then stood up and held his arms open.

"Uncle," greeted the Nightingale, going into his embrace.

"Karliah, so good to see you." He looked at the Altmer. "So, the new Guildmaster?"

"Yes, uncle, this is Linwe Charmlock of the former Summerset Shadows. Linwe, Revyn Sadri, Taliesin's brother-in-law and the one who suggested I seek you out for alliance."

Linwe was sturdily built for an Altmer. Light brown hair and closely trimmed beard. Pale green eyes studied him warily.

"I'm nothing like Taliesin Faro Felix," Revyn assured him. "I am quite sane."

"So says the mer who hangs wet laundry from the Mad God's cockhorse," the Altmer groused. Revyn smiled. Someone had been poking around his home in Windhelm. Also curiously skilled if he recognized the staff when the book by the same name never described the Wabbajack.

"I carved the sigil of protection on your home myself," said Linwe. "Redundant though it be. I know the Dunmer practice of binding spirits as guardians and the ones you've got guarding your home are strong enough to kill any intruder. I had to swear on Nocturnal's name that I was your ally if I wanted to get out alive."

"Hm." Revyn managed not to laugh at the peevish note in the new master of thieves' voice. He sat back down and waived the two to seat themselves, but they declined saying they had more work to do that night. "So you're here to take advantage of the fat purses that have come to town?"

"Hunting, yes, uncle. It should be expected," Karliah said, laughing. She topped off everyone's cups for a last round. "We've got to rebuild the Guild's treasury. And, yes, this is a good opportunity to train up some new pickpockets."

"And housebreaking," Revyn added. "Well, I won't wish you good luck. That would be redundant as you have Nocturnal's favor once again. But do stay in touch. I have a feeling I will need to call in a favor before I leave Solitude." Linwe frowned at that but Karliah said, "Of course, uncle. Come on, Linwe, I'll explain later," she hissed at the Altmer as she pulled him towards the veranda door.

+—+—+—+—+

Jarl Ravencrone was at the Blue Palace attending the first of many galas welcoming the Emperor Titus Mede. Joric was settled into his new room in the mushroom tower and asleep after a long, tiring day learning from Revyn about how to meditate while wizards gently worked in the background on temporarily closing down some of his gifts and linking a drain-off of excess energy to his mother.

Revyn was reading reports brought in this morning by the private courier service set up between his business managers. In Windhelm the Gray Guards have found a replacement for that lazy lump Henrick. In Ivarstead ground had been broken for the construction of the new orphanage to be called Geirmund's Honor. Primary builders, to many Nords' dismay, were Dunmer (Indorils to be precise). Ex-soldiers who served under Selrun Mor at the Ghostgate and their families. Ysolda's trade caravan had added Ivarstead to their trade route. In the Rift Flora Felix and her fiancé and his mercenary troop had arrived to claim Goldenglow Estate. Following Revyn's advice, they had made an offer to the Rift's Jarl to buy Fort Faldar's Tooth and the land around it. In the Reach Sanuarach Mine was again being hounded by mercenaries and Ainethach's children, working as kitchen servants in Understone Keep, had unpleasant run-ins with the Silver-Bloods. It was getting harder to appeal to Jarl Igmund for justice or protection. Any advice or help Revyn could send would be much appreciated.

Soft bells signaled that someone was at the base of the tower. Then Windstad Steward Valdimar landed gently on the lift platform to tell him that a Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus was here to see him.

A week before the Katariah had sailed into port the Penitus Oculatus had requested through Jarl Idgrod permission to station a pair of watchers at the Windstad Tower because of its view of Solitude's docks and the bay. To their credit, the watchers had been discreet, wore regular clothing, kept out of everyone's way, and made no demands on servants. The Penitus Oculatus were the new "Blades" of the Mede Emperors — guards, spies, thieves, and assassins when necessary. He had no doubt they'd been thoroughly documenting all activities and pertinent personnel in their hidden files. Probably even scribing down somewhere every conversation he'd had with the Jarl of Morthal. And they were very good at rifling through any business papers he left on his desk and putting them back in place so as to appear untouched. So untouched that even after he'd left a door open to let a strong breeze from the bay in to sweep the room the papers on his desk remained perfectly in place. The flower arrangement in the vase the papers were lying next to, however, needed to be fixed.

He accepted this with good natured grace. Dunmer or not, he was an officer in the court of the Stormcloak and therefore automatically on any Imperial "watch" list.

Commander Mero came with a surprising summons to meet an important person aboard the Katariah. Of course, he couldn't' say whom. There was the option to refuse, but Mero strongly urged him not to take it. Nothing would happen if he did refuse, just a sorely missed opportunity granted to so few.

"Before I give you my answer, I suggest you go outside and talk to your men out there," said Revyn.

"I have no need to talk to them."

Revyn frowned, not at all intimidated by the officer. "You walk in here in full uniform. You should know by now I have as many spies watching me as are watching the Emperor. Many of them will be reporting to Jarl Ulfric on who I talk to and for how long. I would have you seen out there talking to your men and not cloistered in here with me."

They went onto the veranda where Mero made a show of taking a report from his men. Revyn, in the meanwhile, hung some festive lanterns of small birds.

After he hung them he said, "Have a pleasant evening, commander. I'll see you sometime tomorrow night."

+—+—+—+—+

"I could've sworn the Dark Brotherhood was gone," growled Mero as he sheathed his sword. The Emperor had just entered his room and all but Mero and the chamberlain remained in the outer suite. As soon as Revyn had said, "Good evening," Mero's sword tip had been at the Dunmer's throat. He couldn't fault the commander's lighting reaction and equally fast restraint. "How in Oblivion did you get here?" demanded Mero.

"Windstad has some of the best alchemists you'll find in Skyrim," Revyn stated calmly. "A few invisibility potions and skillful distractions by friends allowed me to walk in. I actually arrived here two hours ago and have been waiting. I trust his Imperial Majesty is still expecting me?"

His Imperial Majesty appeared in the door of his bedroom. Mero immediately moved to place himself between the Emperor and Revyn.

"Thank you, Commander Mero. You may leave me with our guest." The Emperor crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Revyn who was kneeling. "Innana did say you were a surprisingly bold and resourceful fellow. I found the tales of Korvanjund and of your Nightingale niece quite amusing. Rise."

Revyn was enormously pleased to see two of his cousin's sujammas among the Emperor's bar selection. The chamberlain poured drinks and then was dismissed. It was no surprise that the Emperor wanted to talk about the last days of his dear friend Antony Felix. Some of the questions, though, were definitely probes of Revyn's world and his relation with his wife. The questions were disquieting. He was on trial again for something and he was so tired of that feeling. But he refused to let that show. Besides, telling the Emperor to shut up and just pour him another drink would not reflect well on his wife.

But there was a hell of a lot of questions about Revyn's projects in the Gray Quarter and his connections around Skyrim. Just how much did Innana confide to the Emperor? Revyn would have evaded most questions but for the ring the Emperor wore. A plain band ring of bonemold that glittered as if dusted with a rainbow. The Emperor noticed his interest and extended his hand so that Revyn could inspect the ring more closely. "A souvenir; Innana crafted it herself for me," he stated. The bonemold dust had been mixed with crushed crystals. Crushed soulgem shards. The lingering power in them was familiar and sent a tingle of recognition when Revyn touched it.

"Trust me," was the faint whisper he heard in his mind.

"It's very strange," the Emperor mused aloud. "This Dunmer custom of death jewelry. Antony was one of the few I trusted completely. Innana is another. She let the battlemages inspect this ring as they do with all gifts given to Emperors. They only detected what they thought was an unremarkable health blessing on it. I never told them it was haunted and I often talk to my dear friend in my dreams."

"The n'wah is laughing right now," Revyn said dryly, releasing the Emperor's hand and sitting back in his chair. The Emperor laughed at Revyn's reference to his father-in-law. "He's telling me to trust him and so I shall. What do you need to know from me, your majesty? We have two hours before I must return to my tower to greet Jarl Idgrod and some guests she's bringing back with her."

Jarl Idgrod surprised him by bringing back an Elder Councilor as one of her guests. Elder Councilor Amaud Motierre was oddly eager to meet him. Of course, he professed a tourist's fascination with the glowing mushroom town. He also claimed future trade interests in Skyrim and had attached himself to the Emperor's tour to gauge the viability of such ventures and alliances. There was the East Empire Trading Company of course, and known private enterprises such as Erikur of Solitude, the Black-Briars of Riften, the Shatter-Shields of Windhelm, and then there was Revyn Sadri's own quietly rising empire.

And, by the way, was he acquainted with the Hero of Falkreath, the Dunmer who was credited with destroying the last of the Dark Brotherhood? If so, by chance did the hero happen to sell any items taken from the Brotherhood Sanctuary? Perhaps it was morbid, but who wouldn't want a souvenir of the end of the infamous assassin's guild? Thanks to Vittoria and Asgeir Snowshod Revyn's shop had recently become known for obtaining unique items like the stahlrim armor and weapons that the pair had presented to the Emperor; it was a thought anyway.

While Counciler Motierre was trying to impress on Revyn the grand opportunity being allowed him to have a sponsor on the Elder Council, Revyn very softly remarked to Jarl Idgrod, "Snakes, my jarl? Thank goodness my wife isn't here to set fire to the town." Jarl Idgrod responded with a soft, surprisingly girlish giggle.


	33. House Arrest

_AuroraNova: Haven't tried that one. I just buy Chelan Gold Cider when the stores stock it around this time of year. Otherwise it's homemade "matze" (rice wine) or "tapuy", Mountain Province style._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

HOUSE ARREST

Revyn's past two weeks in Solitude had been interesting and profitable — the Emperor had arrived to begin a tour of Skyrim; fat purses were received for ridding a long-unused wing of the Blue Palace of its ghosts and for renting Proudspire Manor to nobles flocking for the occasion; the business ventures at Tel Windstad were flourishing; the Thieves' Guild was back in the business of "redistributing" wealth; and he had more business leads for his own purposes and for his in-laws of the Felix tradehouse.

He'd come to Tel Windstad escorted by five bodyguards; four were assigned to him by Thane Gilder and one was blade-for-hire Stenvar's young cousin, Arven. And while Revyn had been occupied at Tel Windstad they'd wandered about as they pleased. Gilder's spies had been happily absent for the entire two weeks while Arven stayed local because he found he didn't like the crowds in Solitude that had come to see the Emperor, and so he'd helped with prepping fish for drying, protecting plant harvesters in the swamps, and learning the finer points of Dunmer wines and beers.

Now it was time to return to Windhelm. He paid the fines to release the four absentee guards — they'd been arrested by the Penitus Oculatus for asking too many questions, and no, he wasn't interested in knowing what questions they were arrested for — it was time to return to Windhelm by carriage instead of boat. Great for Arven who'd discovered he was decidedly a landlubber.

+—+—+—+—+

"Tobias is dead. Jaakku's almost there. He's breathing but he hasn't woken up since they last fed on him." Arven helped Revyn sit up then gave him a limp bag of water. Badly filtered and still had grit, but he drank anyway. Then he looked around. Jaakku lay on the ground, barely breathing; Torfi and Myndill were trussed like birds ready for roasting; and Arven's right hand was tied to his feet, leaving him only his left hand to tend to Revyn whose hands and feet were bound. Revyn also had a magic inhibiting collar on him.

Vampires had ambushed them just an hour after they passed the place the locals called "Movarth's Cave," a long abandoned iron mine. An icebolt had taken out the wagon wheels and Revyn had been thrown from the wagon as it collapsed and then crates fell on him, knocking him out.

"They'd have eaten you first because you're the oldest and likely weakest, but their leader acted like he knew you," Arven told him, "so they ate Tobias instead because he took the worst injuries."

The leader of the vampire group was a Dunmer who looked too damn familiar to Revyn. He was wearing Revyn's missing Ancestor necklace.

"You look like someone I used to know," said the vampire as it fingered the necklace. A thrall pulled Revyn to a seated position and held a torch closer to his face. "What is your name, meat?"

"I could ask you the same because you also look familiar. The name's Sadri. You're wearing my family. You then must be Feran Sadri, my paternal grandsire's brother who left to do some research in Skyrim and never came back." There was only the barest of twitches in the vampires eyes. "Eldiig Sadri was my grandsire. Left Narsis for Vivec City and took up trading in the Ashlands and married a Zainab girl. The bead with the cliffracer design is him. The bead next to it with the ebony inlay is your other brother, Svadik."

"Ashlander filth."

"Molag Bal fluffer."

"Yes, my young brother had a mouth on him and you've definitely inherited it." The vampire drew back and grinned, showing long, pointed teeth. "We tracked you from the Telvanni settlement on the bay; what's your connection to them?" he asked.

"I manage some of their trades."

The vampire sauntered over to Arven and hauled the younger, bulkier man up as if he weighed nothing. He smiled again, showing teeth.

"I'm married to the lady of that tower."

"Ah, very good." It dropped the Nord and came back to Revyn. "I suppose after corrupting blood with Ashlanders, why not marry a Telvanni?"

"Oh, please. A vampire has no ground to discuss corruption of bloodlines."

"This thane, this Telvanni named after a Hlaalu king, she's quite the vampire killer. Very handily took out Movarth Piquine and his nest. And very well done with the Wolf Queen. And she found Lady Serana for us and brought her safely back to her father's cold arms.

"I missed seeing the grand entrance since I was too busy in my lab that day. But how the court did talk. She boldly wore both Azura's and Meridia's favors as she faced Lord Harkon and turned down his offer to become one of us. He killed most the cattle that day in his rage after he banished her. Killed the rest when Lady Serana disappeared again.

"So we're all about rounding up more stock for the pens. Naturally, I came to Morthal. Let the others herd cattle. I need to restock my lab. But the damn Telvanni have poached all my favorite spots."

Revyn sighed and slumped wearily back onto the ground. "Yes, yes. I'd give you the family discount but that's not what you want, is it? If you're thinking to use me against my wife, it won't work. It won't stop her. In any case, the end result will be the same. Harkon is destined for the dustbin."

+—+—+—+—+

The vampires used Revyn's stock of healing potions to keep Jaakku alive but only so that they could bleed him later. As days passed, they alternately bled, fed, and healed each of the Nords. Revyn, however, they left untouched. So far Feran kept him safe from the other vampires. Revyn managed to keep him amused with tales of the family before Red Mountain's eruption. After that, Revyn confided that his wife was not actually a Telvanni but a Hlaalu and Imperial mix, and that her godsfather was Nerevar reincarnated. And, no, he hadn't yet had the honor of meeting the reincarnated warlord.

Well, his undead ancestor was pleasantly a chatty one and starved for conversation that didn't revolve around hunting mortals for food, ways to curry favor with Lord Harkon, and fantasies about a world drowning in darkness. A reluctant turn at first, but what common sense and compassion had survived the initial turn had been crushed under Harkon's control. Revyn had briefly met Serana. While Lord Harkon was her father, he wasn't her sire. His mind, his moods and desires didn't affect her as it did those he infected with vampirism and enslaved to his will.

All the current vampires in Volkihar keep were Harkon's turns. Those turned by his wife were slaughtered when she fled with her daughter and two Elder Scrolls. A true pity. Most of them were able to converse on various subjects because the lady had a taste for intellectuals. Harkon only kept Feran because he wanted someone to protect him against the possibility of his wife concocting something from her deadly garden. The rest of Harkon's minions Feran found depressingly boring so he spent almost all of his time in his lab. And as long as he produced useful things on demand, Harkon left him alone. And over time he had managed to regain some thoughts and ambitions of his own as long as they were not in direct conflict with Harkon.

Sadly, letting Revyn slip away was in conflict with Harkon's will. The lord wanted his daughter back and Revyn's wife dead. Until she had joined the Dawnguard, they hadn't been enough of a threat to warrant direction action. But she was a menace. Somehow, she'd recovered the two Elder Scrolls Harkon was missing; she'd snatched away a moth priest from their grasp; she found and killed every agent they sent to pervert the jarls. Now she was gone to fetch Auriel's Bow. There were spies everywhere watching for her return. And when she returned, if they couldn't take it from her before she returned to the Dawnguard, then all forces would be recalled to Volkihar Castle to ready themselves for the Dawnguard's predictable attack.

Feran's task had been to concoct poisons that could be dropped onto enemy forces. A much more efficient way of killing even if it meant spoiling all the meat for the victory feast. But the Telvanni had harvested most of the plants Feran needed. But when Revyn returned there and ordered them to surrender their stock, Feran would have more than sufficient supplies. And if he could order them to create the poisons, that would be even better.

"Inefficient," Revyn said. "Sleeping potions would be easier to order and would arouse less suspicions. Such a high demand for them in these troubled times. Also better for later harvesting."

"Brilliant," said Feran. "What an asset you would be to Harkon."

"No. I don't think so."

"I'm afraid, nephew, you won't have that choice once Harkon sinks his fangs into you."

"Hm. Tell me, uncle, if you could regain your life, would you, could you defy Harkon long enough to take that step?"

Feran stared at him for a long moment. "That's impossible. I'm long dead and my soul's in Coldharbor. Besides, I've grown to like the advantages of undeath. I have magic here that I couldn't possibly imagine before."

Revyn slowly shook his head. "Your soul is still your own and it's your connection to Coldharbor that sustains your body. There's a way, however, to sever that connection and restart your life's spark and restore your body using the energy in a black soul gem. There is a mage who has the knowledge to do that."

"And what would I do with life after all this time?"

"You start all over like the rest of us did. One day, one step at a time." Revyn tilted his head as he stared thoughtfully at the Ancestor necklace. "As you're so enamored by death, surely they've been talking to you. I know they must be trying — Sadri kin asking questions, the Ashlander kin of Zainab and Urshilaku demanding you return to the true path and true gods of the Velothi; my wife's side too, the Ra'athim are bossy and the Felix snickering and joking at the details of your life. None of them like being ignored."

"Shut up, you lot," the vampire hissed suddenly, talking to unseen others. He gathered up the necklace in his hands and grimaced ferociously as if to tear the heirloom from his neck and scatter the bones. So tight was his grip that sharp edges from some of the ornaments drew black blood. Then a look of surprise followed by disbelief.

"I can't continue to delay Harkon," he said. But the direction of his eyes, his tense posture — he wasn't speaking to Revyn. "He's sent Vingalmo to order me back. And it's bad. Once he discovers who I have here, he'll want to immediately enthrall him for...

"Damn it, Eldiig. I could always count on you to tattle to mother and bring her into this." He looked at Revyn now with a strange smile.

"You didn't tell me Eldiig and his son married Ashland witches, nephew. A pushy pair, these witches. They must be the reason the Ancestors are suddenly so damnably loud. I've never heard that wearing this token enabled one to hear the dead so clearly before." He removed the necklace and put it back around Revyn's neck. He then removed the magic-block collar. "Now I'm going temporarily put you under a spell so that Vingalmo doesn't. Because if he does it, you won't wake until you're at Volkihar. Harkon does so enjoy a prey's struggles as he takes them. Once you wake, get over your stupid inhibitions about using those spells Eldiig tells me you've learned from your barbarian cousins. Revel in your power. It's the only chance to escape."

+—+—+—+—+

The spell cast. He opened his eyes and gave a hoarse cry of grief. He knew these ghosts; two Ashlander cousins of his mother's family.

"Hey, city boy," taunted one spirit, "Haven't gotten soft on us, have you?"

"Shut up," said the other. He glared at Revyn. "Snow vampires, cousin? Really?"

"Maludren, Athikan, I... I'm sorry to bother you, but I didn't know what else to do," Revyn said.

"Oh, we know, we know," Athikan said, waving the apology aside. "We were hoping you'd remember the summoning spell. There were quite a number of us waiting. No one wants to come back to Mundus, but we'd hate even more losing you — again! — to a cold harbor."

"A cold ha-, Skyrim's not that bad," Revyn weakly protested.

"Pfft!" from Athikan. "Tell me more, steward of Windhelm."

"Athi, you give Jarl Ulfric too much power," Maludren commented. "Revyn, do what you do best; supply us. Athi, cut 'em loose while I start on what's out there." The Maludren spirit went through the door and they could hear shouting and cursing from the vampire thralls.

Athikan knife severed rope and pried open iron cuffs with equal, impossible ease. "You, you're the bodyguard, yes?" he said, pointing his knife at Arven who squeaked. "Guard our cousin and be ready to carry him out if necessary."

"Athi, one of those vampires is Feran Sadri..."

"Aye. The Sadri kin are waiting to snatch what's left of his soul to face Azura's mercy as they have. If he gives us the opportunity to cut his binds that is. That Harkon is a vicious ash vampire." The spirit went through the door.

Arven knelt next to him. "Master Sadri, what the hell? What was it saying? All I'm hearing from the ghosts is gray folk talk."

"The Ancestors precede. Be ready to move when they come back," Revyn said tersely. "Now let me concentrate." Revyn wrapped his arms around himself and bowed his head.

He was only vaguely aware after that of events. It took all his attention to continually channel energy to the spell, so much more so than the firewolf spell as those creations came from borrowing the energy of Aetherius. The Summon Ancestor spell was a drawing of sentient spirits. He could sense what his cousins were doing, where they were, could sometimes even see what they saw. From time to time he was aware of Arven shouting orders at the other prisoners; of his own body being carried.

Feran Sadri got away.

Revyn woke in his bed in Tel Windstad and screamed for scribes and the Penitus Oculatus agents temporarily stationed here during the Emperor's visit because of the tower's view of the bay. Feran had sneaked in a gift when he'd bespelled him.

Feran's bequest was the gift of dark knowledge. Revyn spent the next hour with scribes who feverishly scribbled all he could say about Castle Volkihar's layout, the hidden resources, the number and composition of troops within, magical traps, security spells and the counterspells needed — all current information needed to avoid absolute slaughter by vampire forces. After all that, and while copies were being made, other scribes wrote out Revyn's individual messages to the ex-Ordinators in Whiterun and the Rift, to the Companions, to the College of Winterhold, to his people in Windhelm (and even the court mage there), to a priest of Mara in Dawnstar. The Dawnguard was short on priests and mages, their only member a priest of Arkay, and that one seemingly half-mad.

"That's every available courier the Legion had on hand," said Jarl Idgrod. "I'm surprised the General was so helpful."

"Well, with the Emperor wandering about Skyrim now..." Revyn shrugged and dutifully drank the second cup of some warmed up swamp muck that was supposedly healthy, provided he could keep it down.

"Was anyone left out?"

"Only the Thalmor and the Silver Hands. The Thalmor would hang to the rear until near-victory and then stab their allies in the back while sweeping up what's left of the enemy. Then they'd proclaim themselves the saviors of Skyrim against the vampire menace. The Silver Hand only hunt and torture werewolves and have never even tried to hunt vampires."

"A good number of our people here are preparing to join this attack," said the jarl. "Falion also wanted to go, but I forbade it. He needs to be here so that any infected and past the point where prayers would help can come here for his sorceries. I've also summoned that Altmer priest of Arkay from Falkreath to assist Falion. I've visions of Priest Runil having more than nodding acquaintance with violent magics and bitter regrets."

"Your visions are true; he's a battlemage since the Oblivion Crisis and with the Dominion during the early years of the Great War. Keep that as concealed as possible, my jarl," advised Revyn absent-mindedly. "Let the Winterhold students take the credit. If the Dominion gets too curious about him, they'd find out he's a deserter. My wife recovered the diary he'd lost when he was exploring a cave in Falkreath territory and had the misfortune of disturbing a nest of necromancers," Revyn explained. "Or maybe good fortune," he mumbled vaguely. "I got a good apprentice from that. But the diary, she didn't get to return it to him immediately because it was written in Altmeris, which she doesn't know how to read. But she kept it anyways, being the packrat she is. I do, however, read the script and found it quite interesting. When is he due to arrive?"

"He's already here. I sent a mounted escort for him when your bodyguards brought you to Morthal. He arrived an hour ago." Jarl Idgrod patted Revyn's shoulder before rising from her chair to leave. "I'll send him to you. I believe you and he need to talk to those noisy spirits about you." Revyn nodded but didn't answer. He was intent on cleaning his necklace with a rag he'd dipped in his water cup.

When Arkay's priest, Runil, arrived, Revyn pointed him to a small, damp patch of cloth soaked in dark blood. "A blessing to bind the soul to death," he ordered curtly.

"Excuse me? I don't..."

"We need to do this before the blood dries," Revyn explained impatiently. "I know the spell to summon a soul dead to Mundus, but since he's undead it won't hold him beyond a few heartbeats unless you hit him at the same time with Arkay's Law." He stared up at the priest, his red eyes glowing with deep fires. "His name was Feran Sadri and it's time for my miscreant ancestor be brought back to House Sadri to face the family. I need Arkay's interferance long enough to disrupt the ties to Molag Bal so that I can rebind his spirit and soul to the House and to judgment by Dunmer custom. Even at their most cruel, none of the three can match Molag Bal for unending viciousness. Mephala will soon forget; Boethiah, grow bored; and Azura eventually forgives and the soul redeemed and released.

"As my grandfather and father taught me, simply believing in a stock's worth won't move it. If salvation means forcefully ripping him out of Molag Bal's grasp to face the true Tribunal's judgment, then will-he or nil-he, he goes.

"So, give him his rites so I can bring him in."


	34. Bones to Grind

_AuroraNova: Thanks. Fixed.*_

 _* A/N: last story lightly edited and reposted. No major changes, just some detail tweaking._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

BONES TO GRIND

The last two wolves of the pack had the sense to run away. Revyn approached the weary farmer who grinned nervously at him and his bodyguards. "Gods bless you for your assistance, friends," the farmer said. "I don't have any gold I can pay you with, but..."

"Our pleasure, friend," Revyn said, waving away whatever the farmer was going to say. He eyed the fat bullock the farmer was leading. It had been shorn of its shaggy coat and its hide painted with strange symbols. "Might I ask why your beast is decorated like that?"

"Oh, it's for an old bargain my family has with the giants near our farm," the farmer explained with another nervous grin. "Once a year we give them the fattest cow or bullock we have and they leave our farm alone. None of our cattle go missing and they don't let their mammoths trample through our crops."

"Fascinating. Can you tell me what those symbols mean?"

"I'm no expert but I'll tell you what I can." They ended up escorting the farmer to the giant campsite and watched from afar while the farmer walked the beast up to the nearest giant. The giant inspected the animal, traced the symbols on it's hide, then grunted and nodded at the farmer. The farmer touched one of the menhirs of the camp and walked back to Revyn's group. They gave him a ride back to his farm and Revyn spent the evening talking to the farmer's father to get more information on their bargain with the giants. Revyn and his guards spent the night in the barn and the next morning, as they were leaving, Revyn paused by the feeding area of the cattle pen. The cattle's grain trough looked to be a large, flat stone in the ground and the grain filled grooves too smooth to be natural. He stood on the driver's seat of the wagon. Now, at roughly half the height of a giant, he saw the pattern of the grooves. A mark identifying the giants or the farm? It was one of the symbols he'd copied from the cow onto a paper. The went back to the area of the giants, keeping the wagon out of sight, and he sent Arven to sneak back to the camp and copy the marks on the stone the farmer had touched.

Trade, business, profit — the potential and planning made the ride into Whiterun Hold more pleasant for Revyn. He was so tired of vampires. Thanks to them he'd been forced to use the magic he'd never wanted to learn, much less use; had to forcibly wrest an Ancestor's soul from Molag Bal by throwing him instead to the hard mercies of the true Tribunal; involve himself in the details of a Dawnguard/vampire war and further endanger his delicate standing in Ulfric's court... Vampires had sucked down so much time that a one-month business trip and mission for Jarl Ulfric had turned into a three-month travail. And it still wasn't over. There was yet to complete Ulfric's required spy-and-supply mission, the price for permission to leave Windhelm to go to Solitude.

"We are suppose to go to Riverwood, not Whiterun," said Myndill, the leader of Revyn's bodyguards. In reality, Myndill, Jaakku, and Torfi were stormcloak spies. Arven, the youngest, was the nephew of the Windhelm-based blade-for-hire Stenvar and on his first mission outside of Eastmarch. By now he knew the others weren't really mercenaries but he was a sensible young man and, after confirming suspicions with Revyn, kept his mouth shut and promoted a front of blissful ignorance. Better to be believed an ignorant sellsword than be commandeered for dirt pay into stormcloak service.

"I have no real business in Riverwood." Revyn flipped through his notes on cattle prices in Whiterun. "I do have plans for in Whiterun that I can do while you send one or two of yours to the Helgen camp. Besides, if what I do works, there will be gold in it for Jarl Skald and, by extension, to Jarl Ulfric. And again more gold to the stormcloaks once it's bled out of me through taxes. Worth a bit of a side trip, I think."

Jaakku was sent to Helgen with the wagon on the original stormcloak mission. Revyn recommended the family running the Riverwood wood mill as stormcloak sympathizers if Jaakku needed help on the way. Meanwhile, the remaining guards trailed after him into Whiterun. Arven was sent to reserve rooms in the Bannered Mare and Torfi was given a shopping list. Myndill accompanied Revyn to Breezehome to meet with the Dragonborn's steward. Likely a very busy dark elf but she owed Revyn her job and pushed aside other tasks to meet with them.

His wife had collected mammoth tusk powder from a group of giants as one of the items on a past mission to find rare ingredients for the White Phial. These giants new how to grind mammoth bones in a special way that gave them properties regular millstone ground mammoth bones didn't have. Why they bothered was unknown. Revyn's only concern was could these giants grind dragon bones? Regular millstones cracked against the bones. If they could do the job, would they be willing to trade if he could manage to get the concept across to them? If so, Dunmer bone crafters would pay insane amounts for every ounce of bonedust.

If it was possible, agreed the Dunmer steward of the Dragonborn who also was aware the price such could command in Morrowind. As it happened, the steward had easily a hundred pounds of dragon bone on hand. If Revyn could negotiate an agreement with this group of giants — the Stonehill Bluff group, a group living just beyond the Whiterun border — then she would work out a payment plan with Jarl Skald of Dawnstar for a protected status for these giants. Protected status meaning he'd stop trying to hire people to kill every giant in the Pale. However, he probably wouldn't send guards to patrol against freelancers. If the Stonehill Bluff giants proved useful and needed protection... Well, that was something that could be considered later if a deal could be made with the giants. The Dragonborn's steward was in.

Revyn went onto dinner with the Companions. They were greeted at the door by "Little" Nicky, his wife's cousin, a young Imperial and a junior Companion who brought them to the Harbinger.

When all the Companions currently in Whiterun had arrived for dinner, Revyn launched into the tale of being captured by vampires, his wife's experiences with the Dawnguard, and the upcoming battle between the Volkihar vampires and the Dawnguard. Revyn's plea for help had arrived the week before and there had been many discussions amongst the Companions already. Revyn had barely anything to eat for all the questions being thrown at him. Eorlund Gray-Mane and even Adrianne Avenicci were already overloaded with requests for silvered weapons. Fortunately, Adrianne had those Dunmer smiths from Morrowind visiting her and, once they got back in a couple of days from wherever they were touring, they'd help with smithing vampire-killing weapons and enchanting armor to offset the life-draining magic of the vampires.

If the Companions weren't adverse to adding a little mage power to the group chosen from the volunteers to go to this battle, he could recommend a Dunmer priest of Mara in Dawnstar, a skilled healer and, if necessary, a competent battlemage according to his wife. The priest also had an uncanny knack for detecting a vampire no matter how good its disguise. During one job to clear out a skooma den he'd sensed that all the guards and attendants of that den were all vampire thralls. After killing all the thralls, they found a passage to a buried, defiled temple of Arkay and its poisoned spring and proof that the den above was a front for a stock-farming operation for vampires.

The next day was a morning audience with Jarl Balgruuf. Court Mage Farengar had passed the letter Revyn sent him onto the Jarl almost immediately after he'd read it. The Jarl, at the same time, had received a similar letter from the Jarl of Morthal. There had been at least two vampire attacks inside Whiterun in the past year. Well, three if one counted the false-advisor claiming to be from the Empire. Housecarl Irileth had been forewarned of this ploy, had devised a subtle vampire test with Farengar, and had quickly roasted the bloodsucker when it failed the test. The jarl had a request. A small group of Whiterun guards had requested leave to join the fight. The Jarl would grant permission to as many as could be spared, see them properly equipped, and ask the Companions to take the volunteers with them. He wanted Revyn to tell his story later that evening for the volunteers so that they knew what to expect before they committed themselves to battle.

A couple days to buy cattle and goats and to paint them with the symbols Revyn believed were appropriate. The Dunmer smiths from Morrowind returned to Whiterun and Revyn easily roped them and their apprentices into the mad venture. He also had War-Bear volunteering. Adrianne was not happy. Two days to drive the beast towards Stonehill Bluff, rocky outcroppings giants had hollowed out to form a ravine with only one way in and out, done long before the Atmorrans discovered the mysterious forge in the center of the plains and overturned their boat and called it Jorrvaskr Hall.

They set camp within a good half hour walk of the giants' home. Revyn, Arven, and Turik Galam, weapon smith, led out one fat bullock. If the giant was unfriendly, they each had an invisibility potion for an escape advantage. Turik stood with the bullock while a hundred feet further towards the giants Arven helped Revyn unroll a long cloth that had simple pictographs on it. They then returned to where Turik stood. Lastly, Revyn unwound rope of thin, braided leather cords from a length of flat bone with a hole at one end where the cord attached. A windroarer he'd had one of the Dunmer smith apprentices shape from a cow bone. He gave it to Arven, letting the far younger man do the hard work of whirling it. Arven had no problem producing a long, sustained thrumming from the primitive instrument, a sound of the high winds that carried for miles across the plain.

Revyn nervously scanned the sky. He wanted the attention of the giants, not dragons.

Finally, one deigned to investigate. Revyn signaled Arven to stop.

The giant studied the images on the cloth, glancing several times at the symbol Revyn was fairly certain meant "trade." Looked at them and the bullock. It picked up the dragon bone that Revyn had laid on top of the outline of a bone over a grinding bowl. It studied the bone and grunted several times. It held the bone up, pointing to the sky, held arms to the side and made slow up-down movement. Flying. It knew what the bone was.

Revyn knew mer ears could hear a greater sound range than humans, and he could the changes in pitch that dipped lower beyond human hearing. Betmer or the beastfolk could probably hear more in that lower range, but they weren't here. Nevertheless, there was a distinction in sound, if one paid attention, that indicated a form of language that would be impossible to speak.

The illustrated exchange was simple. Small one brought cow and bone to giant one. Bone to grinding bowl. Giant grind bone. Dust from bowl. Small walk away with dust. Cow go with giant. The giant took a long time to study the pictures. It looked beyond them to the number of cattle. It looked at the bones tied to the backs of the cattle and tied together pairs of goats.

It scratched its back with its club while it appeared to be thinking.

Then it went away. They waited an hour. It returned, looked again over the herd and pointed out four other of the fattest cows and bullocks, looked at Revyn and patted the front of its thigh just above its knee. Come here. Heel. Little Nicky and Turik's apprentice lead out the four chosen cattle and handed the leads to Arven and Turik.

"Step inside, said the giant to the little squashies," Revyn murmured to Arven who chuckled as they follwed the giant into the ravine. In the center were two massive bonfires. The surrounding rocks absorbed and radiated heat back so that the whole area was surprisingly warm. One of the giants had scooped out a massive stone bowl. Its contents, about two pounds of bone or tusk ground so fine it could be mistaken for flour, was piled onto a bear pelt.

Three giants. The one that invited them in Revyn called "Ivory" for the massive necklace of flat ivory pieces it wore. Another he called "Fancy" because it had its hair bound back with strip of leather. The third he called "Clubber" because it carried the largest club of the three.

Clubber plucked the dragon bones off the cattle. It examined one of the bones, grunted, then threw it against a stone wall as hard as it could. It then picked up the bone and examined it again. Ivory picked up a rock half the size of the bullock and pounded a bit on the bone. Another examination. "Testing hardness... Dryness... Flexibility... Resistance to fire..." Turik listed the actions, an eyebrow arched in surprise and deep interest. "Fascinating. What? Is that a taste test? Water and hot rocks... Is it softening the bones before grinding or making dinner? Not much of a dinner if there's no marrow."

"Ew. It's pissing into the water!" Arven said, his face twisting in disgust as the smell swamped them.

Turik gagged a little bit. "No worse than a tannery. Piss has an amazing corrosive ability."

Clubber added a generous amount of white ash to the bowl. Fancy added hot rocks to bring the water to a boil. Turik recklessly dashed after Clubber who added other things to the bowl, making notes of materials and estimated quantities that the giant added. He picked up what samples he could. Revyn and Arven just stayed with the cattle under Fancy's wary eyes. Revyn drew in the dirt the complete symbols he'd copied from the farmer's cow. Fancy grunted and shook its head. It erased two and substituted one then swept a hand around, indicating the area. Fancy soon lost interest in the lesson, not having a long attention span or else it wasn't able to concurrently talk while tending the stew.

The mixtured stewed until morning. Breakfast for giants was one of the cattle; the giants had claimed the payment and had at some time during the night killed and skinned the beast and had it spitted and roasting near the bonfire. The giants didn't invite them to eat, it was their meat after all, but didn't seem to mind Arven leaving the area. An hour later, Nisil Feren, armorer, came with a basket of food. Ivory followed, not happy that a stranger had returned in place of the other. It watched as Feren, with exaggerated movements, distribute food to Revyn and Turik. Satisfied there was no threat, Ivory went back to its post. The two smiths went immediately to their craft leaving Revyn slightly bored and sketching images of the giants, the surrounding, and especially of the decorations and markings, noting especially the placement of the symbols. He'd probably send copies to Winterhold and see if any scholar there might be interested in studying the primitive language further. A small sack of bonedust might spur interest.

The water had boiled off and the three giants with their clubs gathered around the stone bowl. They began pounding. The three mer cringed, covering their ears. The ground shook. The walls bounced the sound. The bone was reduced to flat shards. A little water and more minerals were added and the resulting slurry was again heated to boiling. Now came the grinding. A round ball of granite was used to grind the slurry against the sides of the bowl. The bowl sang a thunderous song that again shook the walls of their home. The giants took turns for a half day of nonstop, teeth jarring grinding.

"I think a future gift should be a proper pestle sized for them; what do you think?" Revyn asked the smiths, who laughed and agreed then debated whether stone or iron would do.

Eventually, 75 to 80 pounds of bones was reduced to 5 pounds of soft, silky powder.

The giants were grunting at each other as the smiths carefully swept up and bagged the powder. Fancy reach down and took the bag from the surprised smiths.

Ivory patted his knee for Revyn to come to him. Ivory pointed at the cattle and gestured. "He's tripling the price!" Revyn exclaimed, from 200 per bone to 600 per bone. The Companions and the smith apprentices drove in the rest of the cattle and negotiations began. Another half day spent for Revyn to wrangle the price down three cows for two bones or four goats per bone. And frequency — well, that was trickier. This spot was evidently shared with others who were out with the mammoths.

Revyn was a bit frustrated. On one hand, it was a breakthrough to even get the giants to agree to an exchange. On the other hand, he could see weeks and months of negotiating to lock down a mutual agreement with all the giants who called this place their home. He and the Breezehome steward would have to not only find mercs willing to patrol this area to protect the giants but to find an agent to continue the negotiations and see to collecting the cattle. Hard enough in peacetime but in war and with an already hostile power in Jarl Skald of Dawnstar, long-term prospects was dim. The Jarl had made it clear that if this scheme worked, he was expecting a bigger cut. He also wasn't going to encourage his people to take this dark elf-led opportunity.

And the giants. They wouldn't accept trade with just anyone that walked by with a cow and dragon bone. The farmers had been in place for a little over a century and the giants were familiar with them. No fly-by-night trade deals with unknown parties for them. That was made clear when the giants wanted some identifying mark from Revyn. Revyn, after a frantic mental search, used the Akaviri symbol for the Dragonborn (which looked like an apple with a worm to him).

Boethiah's spearshaft. Looks like he'll have to use that reward his wife earned for stopping the plague of nightmares in Dawnstar and, together with a promised cut of dragon bone profits, buy a nearby land plot in the Pale and build a farm or something there with the Dragonborn flag. As for an agent, hm, he'll have to find Nords to handle giants, cattle, and mercs. Jarl Skald the Elder was not going to tolerate any Dunmer settlement in his Hold no matter how much gold was involved.

Now this was plotting that Revyn enjoyed.


	35. Geirmund's Honor

_A/N: Sorry. Story-writing delayed by boring, real-time life events. Nothing serious, just time-consuming._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

GEIRMUND'S HONOR

 _Lord Geirmund  
_ _Archimage of Windhelm  
_ _Lord Battlemage to King Harald  
_ _Magus, keep thy vigil eternal.  
Serve now in death as you did in life.  
By these seals our realm preserve.  
From traitors three and their charm of strife._

+—+—+—+—+

"So far it's working," said Constance Michel, matron of the new orphanage being built in Ivarstead. She and Revyn sat at a table set out for them by the staff at the kitchen tent. She was much happier and healthier than what he remembered from Riften. "Selrun's on good terms with Legate Fasendil. The Altmer legionnaire surprised him by being so understanding about Dunmer refugees trying to build a life here. I wish some of my own people were so understanding," she added sadly. "He had to put himself into so much danger shutting down a major skooma dealer and other like jobs to get the Jarl to make him thane. I know it soured his stomach to have to prove himself because of idiots who object to a dark elf being given control over Nord children. As if anybody else was stepping up!" she snapped. "He really did not want to have to quit the Whiterun Guards, but Jarl Laila demanded it. And she's so delighted at having stolen Jarl Balgruuf's famous assassin-killing guard. She has him running around taking care of jobs she can't trust the regular guards to do. And he's one the stormcloaks won't poach because he's an elf — sorry — mer."

"I did see him in Whiterun," said Revyn, "he was at the lecture I gave to the volunteers taking part of the Dawnguard attack on the Volkihar vampires. "

Constance's expression fell and for once her nervous energy was gone. "Yes. He's leading a group of Indorils from here. Most of them are the first generation of the soldiers that followed him out of Morrowind. Young men and women won't fight for either the stormcloaks or the Imperials, so look to this as their chance to prove themselves. Selrun squeezed money out of Jarl Siddgeir for lumber and other building materials to make up for those who are going to be missing from the settlement. Since the jarl keeps boasting that Selrun is the Hero of Falkreath for ending the Dark Brotherhood, Selrun thought he should pay for the privilege.

"They'll be joining up with the Faldor's Tooth mercenaries. The Dragonborn's Whiterun steward arranged that. They expect to make their name by fighting this vampire battle and hope it will help bringing in contracts. They're not very popular, of course, since they're all Imperials who just recently marched in from the West Weald territory."

She sighed and sniffled. "Excuse me," she said softly. "Just thinking about vampires on top of everything else..."

Revyn reached across and laid his hands over hers, squeezing comfortingly. "I believe in this battle both Talos and Boethiah will fight together against the machinations of Molag Bal."

After a moment he said, "I'm curious, how came the new name for the orphanage? Lord Geirmund's tale was deliberately forgotten by royal command of High King Harald."

"Oh, didn't you know?" Constance smiled determinedly, putting aside her fears for the moment. "Your wife stopped in Riften and visited the orphanage. When we told her we — Selrun and I — were thinking of Ivarstead instead of Whiterun as the new location, she told us about the book, _Lost Legends_ , and told us of Geirmund's tomb.

"She and Selrun took a trip to Ivarstead and into Geirmund's tomb. Imagine, the Lord Battlemage of High King Harald eternally guarding against the treacherous sons who murdered their own father because they were jealous of his power. She said the Dragonborn had slain the one in Saarthal and had hired her to seek the prisons of the other two sons."

"Ah, Jyrik Stormstaff in Saarthal," said Revyn, nodding. "And Mikrul Blackblade in the Folgunthur ruins near Tel Windstad. And here, where Lord Geirmund fell and took with him Sigdis Blackbow. My wife is trying to compose a ballad, but hasn't finished it yet."

"Oh yes, she told us. We hope she gets it done. We're planning a little shrine to tell his story and having a ballad would be perfect." Constance bounced a bit in her chair in growing excitement.

"You know what was really special? Selrun said that your wife was surprised that the dragontongue flowers she'd left with the body were in such good condition. The tomb, you know, is partially flooded since it goes under the lake, yet the dried flowers she put with the body when she took the tomb's key from him were still as perfect as the day she put them under his hands over a year before.

"I think it's wonderful. I really hope he approves of us taking his name for our orphanage. I truly hope he'll be our patron. Better than some shifty, saint of thieves as one could only expect in Riften. Our children already have so much stolen away. They deserve to have a strong protector while they're so young."

As good a patron spirit as any, Revyn thought as he walked over the bridge from the Indoril settlement to Ivarstead. He glanced to his right at the island in the center of the lake. There must have been a charm of forgetfulness or something laid upon it. How else could the locals have been so ignorant of the existence of a massive underground tomb existing below the lake, decree or no decree?

But now the entrance was sealed. According to his wife, when she last visited the tomb's lower levels had collapsed and fully flooded. She felt it started the day the late Mage Gauldur had seen his sons committed to Oblivion and had repaired his charm for his avenger to keep as her reward.

+—+—+—+—+

Ivarstead was growing. Now that there were dragons and a Dragonborn roaming about, more pilgrims were showing up. Brand-Shei had moved out of Riften along with the orphanage and set up a general goods shop. He continued to do the books for the orphanage because Miss Michel was too busy with the alarming number of orphans being brought in now that Riften was no longer the dumping ground. At most Honorhall had 20; there was over a hundred now and more trickled in monthly.

"Would you like some apprentices?" offered Brand-Shei with a wry smile. "Plenty of bright, eager ones here I could recommend. Too old to stay at the orphanage now. 16 to 18 years. Most of 'em have learned to read and write and do simple math." Revyn eyed the number of energetic youngsters diligently cleaning items and doing other things.

"So storekeeper, bookkeeper, and job finder. How many do you have?"

"Six actually. Three younglings of 10 to 12, half days, learning shopkeeping. Three older ones, 16 to 18, trading work for lessons. One is a budding linguist and I'm teaching her Jel."

"Not Dunmeris?"

"I was raised Argonian. I can speak enough Dunmeris to make trades and simple correspondence, but higher levels I'm still learning myself. Another is interested in general clerical work, not necessarily shopkeeping. And the third wants training and experience in bookkeeping. Enough to get her experience to open opportunities in high finance and in bigger cities. I share her with the Vilemyr Inn and with a carpenter so she gets familiar with different books of different businesses."

"Impressive."

"Yeah, well, just passing on important lessons I learned from my Argonian parents and kin — when the swamp is rising, all hands better be working."

Pilgrim customers came in and Revyn slipped out to go to the Vilemyr Inn to rest a couple of hours before dinner.

+—+—+—+—+

Revyn was on his way back to Windhelm from Solitude, overtly taking a leisurely tour of the countryside along the way; covertly, he was covering for the activities of stormcloak spies posing as his bodyguards. Four originally and one regular mercenary. Three spies after a run-in with vampires in Morthal.

After the vampires it had been a largely uneventful trip to Whiterun where Revyn conducted some business while the spy, Jaakku, had been sent off with the wagon and supplies to the stormcloak camp on the other side of the ruins of Helgen town. He'd failed to return at the scheduled time and they were forced to go after him. Not wanting to walk, Revyn had borrowed money from the Dragonborn's steward and bought horses from the Whiterun stables. At Riverwood they'd picked up the stormcloak, Ralof, who offered to join the party as he had to report back to Windhelm anyway. And he was originally a local. He knew the wagon had made it past Helgen because he'd ridden with Jaakku as far as that then walked back home.

The ruins of Helgen town had been reinfested by bandits, but not too big of a group for five prime warriors to take on. Revyn waited outside with the horses and Ralof took the others to an underground entrance from which to launch an attack. A couple bandits were captured and questioned and both claimed not to have seen the wagon. The bandits had been at Helgen less than a week and had come from a larger group that had settled a few months ago at the ruins of Skybound Watch. They suggested the wagon either met some patrols from the main bandit group or encountered the witches that camped around Orphan Rock. There was also a rival gang set up in the ancient Fort Neugrad. Then there were also rumors that vampires had been seen around a cave halfway between Helgen and Ivarstead.

The stormcloaks decided to first bring Revyn and Arven to Ivarstead then afterwards go searching for Jaakku and the missing wagon. Five days later and the stormcloaks were still gone.

Captain Nefja's of the Riften guards said patrols hadn't seen them. She also managed to confirm through the hidden stormcloak camp that a quick check at Orphan Rock and at Skybound Watch showed no new activity.

Legate Fasendil's patrols showed nothing new around Arcwind Point, Autumnwatch and Bthalft. Revyn suggested Haemar's cave, or the hidden shrine of Clavicus Vile, as a place to check; hopefully, it would still be empty of the vampires his wife cleared out a couple years ago. Ever since the Emperor had started his tour of Skyrim, all Imperial camps were on high alert, and the vampire warnings being issued by Solitude command just added new pressure. The Legate immediately sent a patrol there. A vampire and some pitiful bandit thralls were found and put the sword. The entrance and exit were boarded up. When there was time, they'd go back later and burn out the coffins and other stuff the vampires had installed.

That left Fort Neugrad. Outwardly, still in good conditions despite the centuries. If bandits had settled there, they had good defenses that the Legate was not willing to throw his men at for Revyn's five mercenaries.

Revyn had anticipated that and had already sent Arven on the one horse they still had to Faldor's Tooth to see if the mercenaries there would help. Arven came back with Selrun, three other Dunmer and five mercs and a healer. One of the mercs was Julius Barrius Victor, newly wed to the healer, Flora of the Felix Family, newest owner of Goldenglow Estate. Revyn reported the results he'd gotten from both stormcloak and Imperial camps and the group rode off to Fort Neugrad. Arven initially rode out with them but his orders was to deliver a message to the Dragonborn's steward in Whiterun.

Flora didn't go with them. She'd come along because she wanted to meet the mer who'd married Cousin Helsette. She was still so very young, just turned 21, and still learning her craft, the alchemy side of it anyway. She and Revyn rode east to Avrusa Sarethi's farm. Sarethi was a business acquaintance he remembered from Vivec City and they'd kept in touch over the decades since.

Three days later Selrun dumped Revyn's three and Ralof at the Inn. The stormcloaks were in rough shape. The group at Neugrad were well-armed and tough and they'd an adept destruction mage with them. Neugrad also had a surprising store of weapons, armor, and other things that made the raid quite profitable. It paid off the contract fee Julius hadn't planned to charge his newest kinsman by marriage.

Legate Fasendil quickly moved to claim Fort Neugrad as it was a part of Imperial-allied Falkreath Hold. The bonus for the Ivarstead Dunmer was that there were small gold deposits around the lake at Neugrad that Fasendil would allow them to mine without reporting such activity to the Jarl of Falkreath. The Legate had little respect for Falkreath's jarl who was only an ally because he wanted Imperial troops on Imperial payroll to protect his Hold. He barely paid his own Hold guards, thus encouraging banditry and ignoring the bandits so long as he got a cut of their take.

The horses and wagon was recovered and only a portion of the goods they'd been carrying. Only two Whiterun horses were recovered. Selrun had collected the stormcloak spies' reports from the bandit leader's quarters. He didn't say anything about them when he handed them to Revyn; just glared at him.

"Why is it whenever I see you there's always trouble on the horizon?" demanded Selrun. He glanced to Julius. "Take note of that, Julius; your kinsmer is the harbinger of battle. He says he worships Azura but I'd swear he's either Boethiah's or Mephala's devotee with all the scheming he does."

Julius's opinion was an expressive flinging his hands up as he shrugged his shoulders. "Felix kin for sure, then. Anyone sane thinks twice about marrying into that clan."

"Then by admission your wits are as soft as mine, kinsman," Revyn murmured, smiling. Flora giggled and elbowed her husband, who proved Revyn's words by the goofy grin he gave his bride.

Julius shrugged again, adding a cheerful grin. "You gonna come by Riften after here then? We'd be happy to throw you a big party and talk trade. We hear you're the best to talk to about opportunities. And leads on jobs. We could use that too."

"I would love to, but after this I have to return directly to Windhelm. I'm already in trouble with Jarl Ulfric for staying out too long. And my associates in the Gray Quarter have sent me nasty letters regarding neglected duties. I could use a big party but it will have to wait.

"Now, regarding the vampires... Selrun, Arven has returned with some gifts I sent him to fetch while you were rescuing my guards. Not for the guards, mind you, but for dear Miss Michel and Geirmund's Honor. Come." he led them into his room at Vilemyr Inn. A long, large bundle lay on his bed.

"My wife kept these while the Archimage Gauldur's necklace was given to the College of Winterhold. She has no use for these as she's crafted and enchanted her own weapons to suit her style. Constance has told me of the plans to build a shrine to Geirmund. Build a good, strong one because here are the weapons of the Gauldursons. The first is Jyrik's staff, the eldest son who fell at Saarthal. It's an enhanced lightning staff, does twice as much magic damage, faster firing rate, and increases the wielder's magicka pool and regeneration. The second is Mikrul, the second son who fell at Folgunthur, across the bay from Solitude. This is his blade. Like a vampire, it sucks the life energy of those it strikes and transfers it to the wielder. The last and youngest is Sigdis, here, where Geirmund fell. The bow is best wielded against mages and magical beings because it likewise vampire drains their magicka and transfers it to the wielder.

"My wife and the enchanters at Winterhold have assured me that no curse has been placed on these weapons. And with the sword and bow, my wife has retempered and refined the steel so that it is stronger than originally made. Bring them back afterwards and we can get the mages at Winterhold to place tracking charms on them so that if ever they're stolen, the weapons can be can be tracked." Revyn picked up the staff, feeling the power running through the golden oak refinished with linseed and polished to a high gloss. Just holding it and he could feel a deepening of power. He gave the staff to Flora and watched here eyes go wide as she also felt the power flowing into her. Julius was testing the balance of the blackblade and Selrun was trying the pull on the blackbow.

"So whose name again is being honored with these weapons?" asked Julius. "This Geirmund fellow or is it Gaulder?"

"Both really," said Revyn thoughtfully. "The disappointed father whose own reputation was forever disgraced by his sons and the battlemage who gave his life to protect others then was damned by his own king to unresting vigil as his reward. My wife saw Gaulder finally get peace. Use the weapons in honorable battle for an honorable cause and give Geirmund the justification he needs to finally discharge his duty.

"And it's great publicity. Let everybody know that the Imperials mercs at Faldor's Tooth are willing to fight in Archimage Geirmund's honor to defend the children of Skyrim. A lot of controversy you should have fun with to interpret any way you want."

"I knew it. You're Boethiah's shill," muttered Selrun.


	36. Frostburn

_A/N: 12/05/2018 Reposted. Sorry. This child escaped the house only half-dressed and without her homework done._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

FROSTBURN

In hindsight I should not have stuck a fork in Galmar for groping my ass last time he got shit-faced after a feast, or, at least, not when the Jarl and the court were watching. Contrary to popular ideas, heroes do not get free reign on any women present, although it was flattering to be seen as still attractive enough to catch said hero's eyes. Women of my family had been blessed with long lifespans and youthful looks. I'm 76, at least 25 years his senior, for Shor's sake, and I was not flirting with him when I'd asked him to refill my wineglass. The wine jar was full and very heavy and I'd strained myself earlier in the day lifting a heavy case of books. He was nearer than the servants and he was already holding the jar, so I asked. Afterwards, he'd laughed it off and it was forgotten. Or so I'd thought.

When the Jarl promoted a Dunmer to the new position of steward of the Gray Quarter it was decided an experienced clerk should be assigned to train whatever assemblage of staff the new steward would produce. Odd that mine was the only name to be considered. Steward Jorlief tried to flatter me, saying that dealing with the elves, especially that slippery shopkeeper who was the new steward, required an experienced clerk who had a decidedly firm hand on how affairs should be conducted. Was that some sort of joke? Nevertheless, servants packed my room and guards escorted me to the Gray Quarter and dropped me at Sadri's Used Wares. If this was a joke of fate, I do not appreciate it.

Revyn Sadri, if I properly understand elf years, was a little younger than me. A bit on the thin side. Could use more meals in him. Friendly and courteous enough, but distracted. He was preparing for a month-long trip to Solitude, of all places. What business had he in Imperial territory when he should be attending to matters here? Shouldn't he be minding himself considering he recently had been investigated for possible treason?

But then I saw the "bodyguards" who were going to be going with him to Solitude — four spies Galmar had added to recent payroll. How inconvenient to take on a spy mission at this time, but, I suppose, orders are orders. I'll just have to whip his staff into shape and work on him later.

There were 20 in all gathered after business hours in a schoolroom in the community hall run by Elani Girith. Their colors ranged from a light gray to one solidly black. Red eyes gazed steadily at me. Because of their lean and sharp racial features, they all seemed to be glowering.

"Now that we're all here, let's begin. I am Dana Mirasdottir of the Frostburn clan. I've been a law clerk for the Jarls of Windhelm for the past 45 years. I was sent here with orders to teach you lot how to do your jobs. That's horse shit. You've waited too long to get your chance to improve your lives to leave it in the hands of the untrained and inexperienced so all I am going to teach you are the peculiarities of the Windhelm's ruling system — who to talk to, how to approach them, and who they answer to and what influences them. I'm sure many if not all of you have more experience than they but fact is they hold the superior position.

"But, if I am wrong and you are an untrained, inexperienced volunteer who knows little to nothing of government procedures, hold your questions and see me afterwards.

"I know you are asking yourself 'Who is this uppity Nord who thinks to instruct us?' I just told you. I'm a long-time law clerk for Windhelm. No, I did not volunteer for this job. Yes, I'm here because I've offended people. Just to save you time from digging, I stabbed Galmar and I call Thane Gilder a fool to his face and in public.

"Let's begin with questions. You tell me what you think you need to know to do your jobs. Orderly, mind you. One speaker at a time. Just raise your hands and talk when I point to you." I picked up a large lump of white chalk. "Paper and writing utensils are on the side table there. I'm only going to write down questions up here. You're responsible for recording what answers interest you."

"Define, please, what are the current offices and who are primary to them."

"Good question. There have been changes recently." I wrote the question down in Dunmeris. I could write it but not speak it, I explained to them, so all question was to be asked in Common.

Being summarily booted out of my room at the Palace left me no time to find a new place to live. Steward Jorlief told me it was Steward Sadri's responsibility to find me a new place inside the Quarter. There was the family land and manor of my cousin where also my century-old mother lived, but that was an hour one way by horse. Absolutely impractical. Steward Sadri's solution was to hand me his own house keys and introduce me to Lady Karis and her niece, Melynis, of the Selvaai of Redoran, who also resided in the house. No relation of Sadri or his wife. Melynis was betrothed to a Sedarys fellow who trailed after the Steward's wife. Sedarys had an indentured servant arrangement stemming from some financial problems on Solstheim and Helsette Faro's high-risk and high-payoff adventuring was the fastest way for him discharge his debts.

The women were temporarily moving out to the community hall because of the work they were doing there — organizing and providing initial security and coordinating projects with the Gray Guards, the Dunmer law enforcers of the Gray Quarter. Living onsite made it easier for them to monitor activities. They would also search for acceptable quarters for me and arrange for improvements and customizations to be done once I made my selection from what they found. For now I would be using one of their rooms for sleeping and the other as an office. Their personal effects were moved to the third-level storage room. Except for the business hours when the main floor (kitchen and former shop area) was open for general public business, I had the house to myself.

The house was three levels. Top level was private bedrooms and non-shop storage. There was also a locked, connecting door into the kitchen of the New Gnisis Cornerclub next door. It made odd sense since the Cornerclub, once a week (only theoretically as the Steward was missing), served as the local courtroom and Revyn and clerks would need a private exit after hearing cases. Ambarys Rendar quickly came to meet me. We were acquainted by virtue of him being a long-time pain in the ass with his constant advocacy for the Jarl to do something about conditions in the Gray Quarter. He was visibly amused that I was assigned to Sadri and staying next door all by myself. He escorted me to the bar below and introduced me to most of the officers of the Gray Guards. No surprise the Cornerclub was practically the second headquarters for the local guards.

The main level had four sections. The largest was the main public room where clerks at the long counter dealt with the public; a side room was set up with desks for other clerks and records; a small back room with enchanted safes and general office supplies; and the kitchen which clerks were allowed to use for meal time if they didn't want to go to the Cornerclub next door.

A door in the kitchen led down to the third bottom level of a furnace room, a section for laundry and bathing (preheated, hot water!), and a storage room for kitchen and food supplies. Slow-turning blades on the ceiling kept air gently moving and vents near the ceiling kept the area dry. A nice use of magic to keep the blades turning. I've been in Dwemer ruins in my younger days and I never liked the places. Not because of the metal monsters but because I didn't like being poached alive by broken steam-spewing tubes while exploring.

Two days later and two nights of dreams I found the door near the furnace. The smaller stone blocks on this wall hid the outline of the door. Behind the door was a large room. Morrowind build with curving walls. An office, library, collection of artifacts, comfortable furniture to relax on, and a house shrine. It was strangely relaxing in there. A bit warm for my taste. I'm sure this was not on the construction plans Sadri had submitted to Jorlief's office. It undermined the Cornerclub but the curved walls and central pillar supported the ground and building above. Around the pillar was a raised bed of soil planted with ash yams.

It felt like homecoming. That made me suspicious.

+—+—+—+—+

"Uncle," I greeted, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

"Dana." Wuunferth relieved me of the tray I was carrying. He sniffed curiously over the capped jug. "What's this? Some sort of soup I'm suppose to drink?"

"A hot beverage of roasted beans from Elsewyr," I said. "'Kafe' I believe it's called. Bitter but stimulating. There's fresh cream to soften the bitterness and some honey to sweeten it. Plus scones and snowberry and grape jams."

"Expensive. What's the occasion?"

"What? You think I'd waste good money on you?" I teased. "Sadri's connection with the East Empire Company. His kitchen is well stocked with exotics and while I'm living there I'm taking shameless advantage." I pushed the clutter on his table aside and he put down the tray. Wuunferth was the brother of my paternal grandmother.

"Ah. And how is living in a haunted shop agreeing with you?"

"I get asked that a lot. Most Dunmer have trouble believing I can stay there alone and not be bothered. Well, the ghosts there do move my things around, steal my books, and occasionally I get strange dreams, but other than that they're agreeable." I fixed my kafe the way I liked it and let Wuunferth experiment with his own in silence. He finally settled for kafe with a little milk and a scone thickly slathered with grape jam. He pocketed the small bag of raw beans for later alchemical testing.

"Why am I not surprised you can live with Dunmer ghosts?" he muttered. "I told my nephew he was marrying into a weird family. Your mother was just like you — claiming to see and talk to family spirits. Did Sadri tell you about them? I've heard rumors that the Thieves' Guild has warning marks on his house. Apparently, they believe ghosts guard the place."

I smiled. "No. He was too preoccupied with packing. Speaking of the steward..."

"Hah. Knew this would come up."

"...he's written that he's been delayed yet again. His store and the Quarter blacksmiths have been selling out on silvered weapons and plenty of other folk have been coming into the Quarter looking for silver. Word is..."

"Yes, he wrote me and he's up to his neck, literally, in vampires," answered Wuunferth, looking annoyed. "And it's true the message was delivered by a Legion courier. The Emperor's about in Skyrim and even the Legion's worked up about this vampire war the Dawnguard is planning. Sadri's been writing to the other court wizards and to the College to solicit for battlemages and for any other magical help we can give. I just got done yesterday with enchanting weapons for Thane Icewind who immediately ran off with his men to join the fight. Ulfric and Galmar are furious because he tossed aside an important mission to fight the vampires."

"Surprising. I thought his grudge was against Dunmer necromancers," I said.

"To him, vampires are no different, so it shouldn't be that surprising. My surprise as that he so readily took Sadri at his word. He really doesn't like or trust that Dunmer. The Legion courier has bolstered Thane Gilder's position that Sadri continues to be in league with the Empire."

"Thane Gilder is a fool. He summoned me in for a meeting and I came in early to break fast with you so I could talk to someone with more sense before I meet with him. No doubt I'll find he will expect me to spy or search Sadri's home for specious evidence."

"So what will you tell him?" Wuunferth abruptly gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, no. Don't try to look innocent, my girl, it absolutely does not suit you."

"Worth an attempt."

"No."

"True. But I'll have to think of something—" my lips curled in disgust, "—tactful. I'm teaching Sadri's people who and how to navigate our ways, but Gilder can make it even more difficult out of spite. I suppose I'll have to give him something. Do you think talking to either Jorlief or the Jarl will help?"

"Jorlief, no. Ulfric may if you can get past Galmar."

He lapsed again into silence and I didn't feel like pursuing this line of thought. But speaking of ghosts and thieves' marks gave me an idea.

The meeting with Thane Gilder went as expected. He wanted a spy and he coyly hinted I could return to my palace position if I did my duty. I told him he could do his own searching and that I usually had dinner at the Cornerclub because they served food that was better than what I could cook. I dropped the front door key on the floor as I left. I could get another from Ambarys and tell him to have the street watch turn a blind eye to any suspicious activities at Sadri's for the next few days.

+—+—+—+—+

A Nord man sat on the lounger in Sadri's room with one of my ancestress's journals open in his lap. Pale blond hair neatly divided into two braids that hung down over his ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wore a hauberk over mage robes. He looked up and smiled as I paused in the doorway shocked at this trespasser. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" I demanded as I drew my knife.

He only set the journal down before he stood up and disappeared.

The journal was open to the section where my ancestress, Nayasu Morvayn of House Morvayn of the Redorans, first met the Nord icemage she was suppose to guard during battles. Much later, when the Kamal were finally driven back to the sea or slain, she followed High King Jorunn back to Windhelm to raise the son sired by the same icemage. The king himself had stood in her lover's place and said his vows for him as she married her love posthumously so that her son would inherit the Frostburn name and land.

Could the ghost I saw be Thane Frostburn, the founder of my family line? If so, what was he doing here? He'd allowed himself to be sacrificed over 800 years ago by the priests of Almalexia to create guardians for some long lost wayshrine, so he was supposed to be bound there.

I went and fixed myself a cup of tea and returned to the cellar. Alright, I could take a hint. I settled onto the lounge and began translating aloud. Though I could read old Dunmeris, but hadn't yet learned to speak it. I suppose I shall have to finally learn how to.


	37. Wake Up

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

A/N: Warning. Long-winded talking heads.

 _"Before Ysgramor led the Nord people south, our ancestors flourished in the frozen continent of Atmora, and to this day our people prefer the bitter climates of northern Tamriel. The Dark Elves abide in Morrowind, a harsh land of ashfall and perpetual earthquakes. The Argonians endure the treacherous and impenetrable depths of Black Marsh. The alliance between our races was born in dark times, when Nord, Dunmer and free Argonians fought as one to repel the invasion of the Akaviri slavemasters. Our greatest strength is the adversity we have overcome. Our resolve is glacial, our might is forged in fire, and our courage, cultivated by the beasts of the jungle. We are Ebonheart. We are as one. And by this, our victory is assured."_

― _Blood For The Pact!, Jorunn the Skald-King of Windhelm_

* * *

WAKE UP

The customers were fighting over a piece of silk. Not a particularly pretty one or valuable one. At least it was a tough strip that would require more strength than either of them had to tear it. But they were loud and disruptive. Revyn moved around the counter to interfere but then the shop started shaking.

"Wake up. You have a visitor."

Dana Frostburn, the Nord assistant assigned to him by the Jarl's court.

"I'm sorry, did I oversleep again?" He sat up in the lounger and swung his legs to the floor, arching his back as he stretched. "A visitor you said?" he repeated, frowning. "Unscheduled? I'm surprised you allow this."

"I am known to make exceptions," she replied in dry tones. "Especially when he comes here instead of summoning you. Now straighten your clothes and comb your hair. Do you prefer tea or wine when meeting with the Jarl?"

"Vith!" Revyn swore.

"I've cleared your schedule for the next two marks. I'll check in after that if you need more time. Tea or wine?"

"Kafe, please. A spoon of honey in it also."

Corporal Mikel escorted in Ulfric who was in common armor and furs with a deep, face-concealing hood. The greatsword of Jyggalag's distinctive hilt was covered in a plain leather wrap and it rode in a cheap wood and leather sheath. Mikel assisted Ulfric to remove both coat and sword and hung them on the hooked rings along a carved staff suspended from the ceiling by silk strings. He also quickly collected his bedroll and bag. "Be right back with the mead, my Jarl," he said.

Ulfric had been here in Revyn's cellar office three times in the past to visit with Revyn's dying father-in-law, Antony Felix.

"Welcome, my Jarl." Revyn ushered Ulfric to a chair at the Dwemer spider table he'd just cleared off. "An unexpected honor. How may I be of service?"

"Your wife; where is she?"

"My... I believe she is still assisting the Dawnguard with cleaning out Volkihar Castle."

"Thane Icewind returned a week ago from there. He acknowledges that without your information the battle would not have gone well. The mages and priests you solicited held off the dark sorceries of the vampires and the secrets you provided of Volkihar's defenses saved many lives. Galmar's spies say you spent hours conversing with that vampire you claim was fallen kin, in Dunmeris, so they couldn't say for certain what you discussed."

"Family gossip merely. I was trying to reconnect, to see if there was any kinship left inside the monster he'd become. Not much, but he retained the family inclination for gossip and curiosity and so he didn't kill us right away."

Ulfric grunted. Anvil re-entered bearing a tray with a goblet of mead, a mug of kafe, and small plates of snacks. "I'll be waiting outside if you need anything, sir, my Jarl."

"Icewind brought back written details of the information you provided the Dawnguard. Hard to believe you had time to discuss any family with the amount of details provided."

"The knowledge was transferred by some unpleasant mind magic which I don't recommend. I'm still having nightmares of being a vampire and trapped in Volkihar and that horrible, unquenchable hunger for blood, and then I wake tasting blood and the stench of death in my nose." Revyn shuddered and stuffed a hot, spicy seaweed crisp in his mouth, sucking the salt and spices to shunt aside memory.

"Thane Icewind says he never saw your wife at the battle. His men never saw her. One would think that if the Dragonborn roused herself from her ice tower then her half-sister should be fighting by her side."

Revyn answered honestly. "I have no answer for that, my Jarl. My last understanding of plans was that my wife would be infiltrating through a back way."

Ulric's lips curled. "The knife behind the back then."

Revyn shrugged. "Personally, I'd use any expedient tactic to take down a vampire. Honor should not be a concern when the foe can resurrect your own brothers and sisters to fight against you." Ulfric acknowledge that point with a slight nod and lift of his goblet.

"You and your ghosts. So many rumors now proven true." Revyn didn't react, just waited. "But now I am curious about your other family, your connection to the Imperial mercenaries that have settled in the Rift, your continued relations with the Imperials in Solitude — and so the Felix kin continue to fortify their presence in Skyrim. You gave the Imperials a new fortress."

"I didn't 'give' the Legion anything. Fort Neugrad is Falkreath Hold. The Legion just claimed it. Indorils had no use for it because they were already committed to building in Ivarstead, and a fort is no place for orphans.

"And, yes, I asked a family favor from the Faldor's Tooth mercenaries to rescue your spies. They may have originally come from Colovia but already accepted a number of Nord warriors into their company. Commander Victor is newly married to a Felix cousin, the side of the family that are wine merchants. That's why her family bought Goldenglow Estate. Black-Briar Meadery could use some healthy competition. Honestly, would you rather your mead be made from the cleaner parts of the lake and the fresh mountain run-offs rather than from the sewage drawn directly from the canal beneath Riften? If you sometimes think you smell piss in Black-Briar Mead, you're not wrong. That and fish guts from the Riften fishery.

"And Victor fought under the banner of Geirmund's Honor. Mage Geirmund, the royal battlemage of High King Harald of Windhelm. I thought you'd be pleased by that. They did it without pay and they've lost men. That's a long way from home to die for Skyrim's orphans. They won't fight for the stormcloaks, mind you. They follow the example of the Companions of Jorrvaskr to remain neutral."

Revyn finished his kafe, which had gone cold as he'd talked, and let his gaze drift towards the door and the Jyggalag sword hanging from the Wabbajack. "Are we back to accusing me of treason against Windhelm, against yourself? I am not scheming with or for the Empire. I am simply trying to run the business I started before becoming your steward. I also believe I am doing as you had expected me to do; I am making sure the Gray Quarter is not being a drain on Windhelm and, in fact, contributes to Windhelm's overall wealth. Have not the tax revenues increased? Is there not new business coming in? Jorlief has been quite specific about continuing concerns expressed by your court. He also has mine.

"Forgive me for being blunt, my Jarl, but you Nords seem to prize that. What do you want from me now?

"I hadn't gotten two hours of sleep in my bed before your stormcloaks were dragging me out for questioning. Galmar and Thane Gilder took turns for days. I'm very grateful they did not employ any Thalmor methods. My pain tolerance isn't what it used to be. Galmar put me under house arrest. I've worked every waking hour since my return to catch up on Quarter business and only leave for court sessions."

"What do you know of Thalmor interrogation methods?" asked Ulfric, staring intently at him through narrowed eyes. Revyn stared unflinchingly back.

"I believe it came out at Antony Felix's funeral that my wife performed a, um, a 'Solitude job' for the Dragonborn; do you recall?"

"No. I only recall that she has taken on several tasks for the College."

"Ah. Well, the Dragonborn needed some information she believed was at the Thalmor Embassy.** I know you know of Northwatch Keep. My wife was the one who rampaged through it to rescue Thorald Gray-Mane along with many others. My beloved is not very subtle, especially against the Dominion. Childhood prejudices I'm sure you understand. She also is a packrat, which is how I managed to build my business by selling off her undiscriminating collections. Northwatch was the year I had a lot of quality Altmer armor and weapons to sell." Ulfric responded with a grim smile.

"My point is my wife collected several interesting things from the Embassy and Ambassador Elenwen's personal rooms. She observed an interrogation session and was all too happy to kill any Thalmor in the area to rescue more prisoners."

Revyn went to the wall behind his desk and pushed aside the Hlaalu banner hanging there. He traced a pattern on the smooth surface and a panel popped open to reveal six shelves holding small boxes, books, and miscellaneous items. He extracted a book and returned to the table.

"A translated copy of Elenwen's record of the interrogation of Ulfric of Windhelm." He slid the book to Ulfric who snatched it up and began skimming through the pages. "The originals are in the hands of the Dragonborn. My wife brought these to me first because she knew I could read Altmeris. We were both very annoyed that job put her on the Thalmor's kill-on-sight list. You wouldn't believe how many Altmer assassin teams and heretic patrols she continues to dodge."

Dana knocked on the door. While Ulfric skimmed through the dossier, Revyn consulted with Dana. She reluctantly agreed to reschedule his late afternoon appointments and delay other matters except for the more urgent ones he would need to see to before this day would be over. If the jarl was still here another two marks, she would have a light supper delivered.

Out of the corner of his eye he observed the dark scowl on Ulfric's face, so he began chattering in light, soothing tones. "I must thank you again for making me take on staff two Nords. Sera Frostburn was an unexpected blessing. She organized my volunteers and sorted through many petty court matters during my absence so that when I finally got back I would only have to concentrate on important ones. Anvil may have been a bad stormcloak but he deals fairly, with open hands, and is slowly winning the respect of the Dunmer. He has also proven himself an excellent vampire hunter. And a more pleasant jail warden I couldn't ask for even if he seems to have adopted Sera Frostburn as his grandmother. When she says I need to go for a walk to clear my head, if I hesitate, he'll drag me bodily to the door and ask her how long a walk." That won a snort of amusement out of Ulfric.

"What were the other books recovered from that evil, sadistic bitch?"

"Oh, studies on the dragon problem, Blade hunting records, other interrogation and subversion projects." Revyn shrugged.

"Who else has seen this?"

"The late Antony. I needed his advice on how to handle the situation I was in and he needed to know the players."

For the next candlemark Ulfric carefully reread the dossier. Revyn sat, half drowsing and recalling the days before Antony Felix's death. Ulfric had visited Antony as he rested here in Revyn's office turned guest room for his in-laws. They hadn't been alone. Galmar had hovered, guarding his Jarl's back. Watching out for Antony had been his son Taliesin, his physician, Hadrien, and Cousin "Little" Nicky. That was the first meeting. Two other visits followed with only Hadrien as silent witness. Galmar had stood guard outside the office to make sure no one interrupted them.

"Had the Legate ever told you what we discussed?" asked Ulfric. Revyn opened his eyes. Ulfric looked grim but not immediately dangerous.

"He mentioned you had some questions about the Great War, nothing else. I never asked any further." Revyn finished off his kafe while considering his next move. "If you wish to, I'll bring you the other books. Perhaps you would be curious to see what else Elenwen has been up to in Skyrim. See who else she has hooks into."

"Anything on the Dragonborn?"

"Alas, no. My dear wife really didn't have much time to do a thorough search for other information. She grabbed what she could from the torture chambers. She was only able to make an escape because one of the prisoners they were torturing had observed where the guards disposed of bodies. They all escaped through the body disposal hatch.

"Ah, and if you're wondering if that same route could be used to get back in, no. New trolls have been moved into the cavern and the dungeon hatch door is now heavily trapped with spells that, if they don't immediately kill you, will alert the entire Embassy. And lovely Elenwen hasn't been in the partying mood since so no more Embassy parties." Revyn grimaced. "I had the displeasure of meeting her at the Vicci-Snowshod invitation-only reception. Too curious about my wife, but she made for an excellent excuse I gave to Vittoria to skip out on most of the party."

"The opportunity to talk to General Tullius about Korvanjund, that I do recall," said Ulfric. "How did your wife get into the Thalmor Embassy in the first place?"

"Through one of the Dragonborn's contacts. A hidden Blade — you do know about the Blades, yes? — well, she knew of one survivor in hiding who was still working to bring down the Thalmor and avenge her Order. Goes by the name of Delphine. Oh, I see you know her." Ulfric only growled in response. "I agree. A most unpleasant woman."

"How much do you know of her?" Ulfric asked.

"Delphine? I have the dossier on her. And then I had the misfortune to meet her when she came to my shop for assistance in a fool's errand to find some mythical artifact."

"Your wife is known for finding hidden treasures; you, for selling them."

Revyn grinned, nodding to acknowledge that dig. "Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares; I'm sure I have something you need. But, I didn't have what she wanted and she was extremely unpleasant about that." Revyn gestured to the dossier. "The book is yours if you want it, my Jarl, no charge."

"You lie," Ulfric said, his voice flat, "by that accursed sword you gave me. No magic but the power of truth you told me. There's always a price."

"Facts and truths are not always the same," Revyn said gently. "Jyggalag's aspect was of hard, cold, unmerciful facts devoid of modifying or relative circumstances. Fact is that I ask no coin; truth is that I hope the book will incline your willingness to listen further to me." Revyn leaned forward. "Will you consider something for me, my Jarl?"

Ulfric didn't verbally refuse so Revyn took it for permission.

"The day of Helgen. General Tullius was defying protocol and rushing your execution to end the war. Ambassador Elenwen was there trying to save your life. If the General had followed proper protocol as she insisted, you should have been sent to Cyrodiil to be tried in the Emperor's court. Plenty of time then for Elenwen to snatch you away and torture you until you're again a working asset before allowing you to escape. Or you may not have broken in which case you'll have died a horrible, accidental death while trying to escape before reaching Cyrodiil.

"The war should have ended that day but for the return of the dragons. Specifically, the return of the World-Eater. Yes, that was Alduin Bane-of-Kings according to the Dragonborn. I must ask, do you know of the prophecy of his return?" Revyn got up to fetch another book but from an open shelf on another wall.

" _The Book of the Dragonborn_ by Prior Madrine of the Order of Talos," he said and opened the book to a specific page before handing it to Ulfric. Standing behind the jarl he pointed out lines. "Here, when Balac-thurm, the Staff of Chaos, was split asunder and hidden in far-flung places in Tamriel; here, the Brass Tower of the Dwemer, the Numidium, was rediscovered in Iliac Bay and then the disputed Dragon Break that reshaped the world; here, the fall of the ALMSIVI and Red Mountain, the Red Tower; here, the end of the Septim emperors; and here, the Snow Tower that is Skyrim and here is your part that felled the final pillar of the world."

He withdrew to his chair. "That, at least, is the understanding we came to. Me and my wife's cousins, her father, and a large keg of sujamma. Alduin needed you alive, my Jarl, for the war would send many souls to Sovngarde. Alduin feeds on the souls in Sovngarde. With every full belly he resurrects the dragons loyal to him.

"Doesn't excuse the Dominion of course. They unwittingly play their part. There's a translation of an ancient song my love found at the Bard's College with a line about 'brothers fighting brothers,' which the Dominion encourages for the long game. They'd learned in the Great War that so long as Skyrim worked together with the Empire, like the Brothers of Strife, they couldn't win.

"Of course," he added under his breath so that Ulfric couldn't hear, "with no enemies left to kill, the Brothers start on their own." He raised his voice back to speaking level. "By the time Alduin has exhausted Sovngarde, he'll be powerful enough to plunder the rest of Oblivion and Aetherius for more souls."

"I see nothing in this book that says the World-Eater feasts on souls," said Ulfric.

"Well, if you believe the rumors that I talk to dead spirits, would you believe me if I said my Ancestors in Mooshadow tell me they hear the roar of a dragon in Sovngarde?"

A knock on the door and then supper was brought in. Dana pointedly showed Revyn a stack of requests that needed Ulfric's approval. "I don't think this is the time for that, Dana," he whispered to her.

"Make time," was her acid reply. "You're going to exhaust your purse in Windhelm before the year is out. We need these funds." Revyn winced. She'd said this loud enough for Ulfric to hear.

"And what funds are these, Dana?" asked Ulfric with a tight smile of amusement.

"Funds for vital projects in the Quarter, my Jarl," she said, abandoning Revyn at his desk and walking up to Ulfric. "We're waiting on Jorlief to meet with us to discuss what of our taxes we can expect to get back to support our people in the Gray Quarter. We know priority goes to the stormcloaks, but we can't keep producing on nothing. I've brought in the most urgent requests, the absolute minimum that must be funded. We need your authorization to proceed without all the squabbling we'd get from your other advisors. Sadri and Faro and the few monied families can't keep financing out their own purses."

"Thank you, Dana; you may go now," said Revyn as he hustled her out.

Ulfric laughed as soon as Revyn closed the door behind her. "The brutal tongue of the law," he said. "She seems to have adopted your people."

"The Frostburn clan came from a Nord icemage and Dunmer warrior 800 years ago during the second Akaviri invasion. I don't know if any official records of that time survived but the first Lady Frostburn was of House Morvayn. I plan to take her with me when next I visit Raven Rock and reintroduce her to her ancestral House and distant cousins."

Ulfric laughed again. "Warn Councilor Morvayn then to keep any sharp forks away from her." But he did look over the requests while he ate. He made changes on some of them before signing off.

"Thank you, my Jarl. But, you've increased the amounts," said Revyn, delighted but puzzled.

"Thane Icewind defecting to fight the vampires ruined several plans. I am hereby transferring the reserves meant for those plans to you. You may present your other requests to me instead of Gilder or Jorlief."

"Thank you, my Jarl. I..."

Bears may seem to be slow, lumbering creatures. They stand and roar a lot. But when they finally charge, they move faster than a man or mer can run. And while Revyn was looking over the signed requests in delight, the Bear of Eastmarch suddenly had him crowded against a wall and a bone-crushing grip on his right arm.

"Words said and words unsaid," Ulfric growled. "You Dark Elves are almost as treacherous as the Altmer, but at least you flaunt your nature in your Daedric gods. You don't pretend they're all lightness and good. You don't believe that shit that all Altmer are the only direct descendants of the pure and holy Aetherius spirits trapped by Shor, whom they revile as the mad Lorkhan. Nor do your people believe that only when the rest of life has been subjugated or exterminated can the Altmer return to Aetherius. Your people broke away. Made your own life in the ash and fires of Morrowind. I respect that.

"I'm trying to break away. The Empire is too close to the High Elves. The Elder Council is corrupted. The Thalmor had too long a time to weaken them. Even Felix knows this. He's told me why Mede threw away the victory we paid so dearly for. That my people continue to pay for.

"The long game you think I'm blind to, I can see it now. With that damned Daedric sword I've been seeing a lot of things clearer. When I hold it it's like standing in the tower in the back yard of High Hrothgar. No more clouds and I can see the world. Stand there. It's so cold you'll die if you don't have the fire in your belly. The air so thin that if you can't focus your heartbeat and your breath and your mind, you can choke on your own panic. There's no way my hate can be erased or turned. I own my mistakes. Rebelling against a safe certainty — there will always be costly mistakes made. I grieve for the lives wasted by my mistakes. There's no compensation, no amount of gold can amend. All I can do is to try not to repeat as I continue to forge a new path ahead.

"Will my dying end the Thalmor threat? It will not. There will be temporary peace as stormcloak Holds fall. Tullius will see that Empire again rules. But will he defend us against Thalmor poison? Will he stop the increased atrocities the Thalmor perform in the name of the Concordant? He cannot because his oaths bind him to the Emperor and thus the Concordant.

"Felix himself has told me the bile his wife must choke down when the Thalmor Justiciars demand release of their cat assassins because the cats are citizens of the Dominion. The Thalmor use her to beat down Khajit rebels at the borders as Tullius is used against us. It has come to where the Felixes take the risk of sending Taliesin to talk with the fish elves, who hate the Altmer beyond all reason.

"I hear the whispers in the Gray Quarter. I've heard the revived ballads of Ebonheart and its call for Nord, Dunmer, and Argonian to join against a common foe. Do your own people or the Argonians on the dock even know who the foe truly is? There are no Akaviri snow-demons here.

"Your people hide behind the decree of Refugees' Rest as a reason not to support me. You also rage that the Empire abandoned Morrowind during Oblivion. So here's a history lesson. The Three-Banner War. The Empire is broken. My impression from all I hear is a call to resurrect the Ebonheart Banner. But the Gray Quarter is not Morrowind, the lizards on the docks are not even a full tribe of Black Marsh, and Windhelm is not the entirety of Skyrim.

"Skyrim can't continue to be the Empire's enforcers. They can't keep sending our people to solve the problems of other lands. We can't keep selling our raw resources to outsiders. It's time we make it a priority to care for ourselves before we kill ourselves doing for others. Is that wrong?

"Tell me, _n'wah_ , is it?" N'wah. Outsider. Foreigner. Slave.

Ulfric released him and returned to his chair. He sliced a thick piece of goat leg and bit into it. Once he swallowed he said, "Ebonheart is history. All roads do not lead to Cyrodiil. Give me a Skyrim that has the choice and the means to walk another path. If you want to be part of Skyrim, forge that path with us."

"How do you expect me to do all this?" Revyn asked, rubbing the feeling back into his arm and gathering up the papers now scattered on the floor.

"You have the freedom to surprise me. Find me options without the need for the sword. Councilor Morvayn tells me that's the strength of the Hlaalu, provided one keeps a firm hand on the purse.

"Excellent roast. Tell your chef I want the recipe."

* * *

** Earlier timeline mistake ( _Doomsday_ ) I made. Northwatch came first before the Embassy. (see _Skyforge Steel_ )


	38. Breakwater

_A/N: I'm treating staves and wands like rifles and handguns. Tradeoff of distance, firepower, load capacity, etc._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

WINTERHOLD: BREAKWATER

"No, Skytemple is not a part of the College. That's an old Barrow and some sort of altar up there," said Revyn, nodding at the high break of land north of and behind the College of Winterhold.

"Your lady raid it?" asked Arven.

"Of course."

"Draugr?"

"Draugr lord and skeletons."

Three colorful bundles of wool roughly shaped like Argonians walked back to where Revyn and Arven waited. The three huddled dangerously close over the fire Arven had built while Revyn ladled warmed spice wine into tankards.

"More water here for heavier ships," said Scouts-the-Deep, a black-scaled, three-toed, hornless Argonian. "Building a breakwater would take more effort. The undertow of Pilgrim's Trench is dangerous. We'll know more once we dive in."

"How long did you say it will take to get enchanted gear from the College?" asked Drains-the-Swamp, a green and gold, two-horned, frilled neck Argonian.

"This week I hope. I have an appointment tomorrow with the Enchantments master, Sergius Turrianus. I sent the commission in two weeks ago. Plenty of time I should think."

"I'm getting a headache from the cold and I haven't even gotten my feet wet," complained Fish Breath, Scouts-the-Deep's brother.

Revyn smiled as he listened to them grumble further in Jel. Didn't understand a word. They'd been recommended by Brand-Shei, a Telvanni who'd grown up in Black Marsh after he'd been orphaned during one the Argonian attacks after the Oblivion Crisis and, ironically, adopted by one of the invaders. Drains-the-Swamp was the great-grandson of one of Brand-Shei's egg brothers. He was a wetlands engineer. He brought in Scouts, a deep water explorer, and Fish, water resources development. Revyn wasn't quite sure what those titles meant but Brand-Shei assured him that he'd need them if he wanted to develop any sort of industry for a town whose biggest asset (besides the College) was the waters surrounding it. Trees were scarce so no lumber to spare, much less sell. Mining was difficult and there was too much potential to run into Falmer. Hunting was fine for subsistence but there wasn't enough to grow an industry of it.

The Argonians were used to tropical waters and only the challenge of a totally new terrain and a trail of gold had lured them so far north. But right now they needed those heat enchantments and the items in Revyn's current stock weren't strong enough to keep the Argonians from freezing their scales off. His wife wasn't available to do the enchanting so he'd sent the job to the College.

The Khajiit gate guard for the College escorted him to the antechamber of the Hall of Elements and left him there to go search for the master Enchanter.

There were a few students engaged in lobbing destruction spells at crystal targets the pool room of the Hall of Elements. He wandered to the majicka pool in the center of the great chamber and stared meditatively into the shallow bowl filled by a heavy mist of blue energy. A column of blue light went from the pool all the way to the ceiling and presumably beyond. The well tapped into Aetherius and filtered energies into Mundus. Strange how light sounded like the hollow roar of wind. He dipped his hand in and swirled it around in the mist. It moved like water, felt like nothing.

Pretty soon his hand was feeling nothing and the nothingness was soaking up towards his elbow. He pulled the flesh and bone lump and tried to shake some feeling back into it. It was alarming how cold the affected limb felt to the touch. The pain of returning sensation was horrible.

"Revyn! Upon my word, it's good to see you again."

Revyn turned around, grimacing. "Master Tol-, ow, Tolfdir, g-, good to see you also."

Tolfdir grinned at seeing the way Revyn was rubbing his arm. Some of the students behind him also grinned letting Revyn know this was a common occurence. Tolfdir sent a student to fetch a bottle that would help numb the pain. No magic healing because the arm was already suffering from magicka overload so chemicals would have to suffice.

Tolfdir promised to meet later for dinner and then Revyn went back to the antechamber where the Enchantments Master, Sergius Turrianus, had arrived. He had a sack of items for the Argonians. The warmth enchantments were exceptionally strong with additional perks for endurance because, as Sergius explained, the tides around Winterhold were strong and the undertow in certain areas deadly. Using the staff enchanter the Arch-Mage had imported from Solstheim, Sergius had developed a way to double-enchant staves and had found ways to create conveniently sized wands almost as powerful in their own way as staves.

Revyn appropriately expressed awe and gave warranted praise. For a long time Sergius Turrianus and the College of Winterhold had a sort of monopoly on creating enchanted items in Skyrim. Revyn's wife had sliced into the College's business, but she was an erratic producer being an adventurer first. Still, she posed some healthy competition and challenge to Sergius.

Former Arch-Mage Savos Aren, now residing on Solstheim, managed to persuade the Telvanni Mage-Lord Neloth to sell the College a staff enchanter. That, coupled with the rediscoveries of ancient enchantments of First Era Mages Gaulder and Ahzidal, Sergius had determinedly fought his way back as Skyrim's premier enchanter. Most the College's routine cash income business of enchanting was now being handled by eager students the College had recruited for him. The primary benefit to the College was that now that he wasn't the sole cash-cow he could focus on research, and he was becoming more pleasant to be around and less the over-exhausted curmudgeon.

The Argonians loved the "light-blade wands" the Enchanter had created. The wand itself was of silver and glass with a thin blade of serrated steel running part of the wand's length and a hole at the end allowed a leather cord loop for retention. "I'm an enchanter, not a smith," the Enchanter had snapped when he'd noticed them eyeing critally the blocky and rough edges of the wand. No skilled smiths in Winterhold so Sergius had to rely on a local miner who usually made crude iron tools and stuff to shape the silver and glass. The wand could glow with light its entire length with a modified candlelight spell. A shift of grip, fingers making contact with three gemstuds and the wand would fire off three magelight globes that could be placed to better illuminate a work area. A wand was also easier to wield underwater and the serrated steel blade made it useful for cutting ropes and nets and through thick kelp though it was too brittle for defence.

A little lightglobe watching, a little numbers magic, and the Scouts-the-Deep was creating incredible contour maps of the areas underwater. Revyn also arranged for Drains to work directly with Sergius. The Argonian had brought two enchanted trumpet-like things that had been specially designed for him by an enchanter in Helstrom, a city deep in the center of Black Marsh. The small trumpet was for listening. The large trump was pressed to the ground and, when activated, send a blast of a special type of sound that... Well, Revyn was out of his depth with this. In short, it somehow told Drains what type of ground he was working with and how stable was the land around Winterhold.

+—+—+—+—+

"We don't need your kind here. Who gave you permission to make changes in my Hold?" The jarl's voice bounced off the weathered walls of the over-sized shack that was the longhouse. Present in the hall on the jarl's side was his wife and housecarl, Thaena, and Stormcloak war officer, Kai Wet-Pommel. Revyn had Arven. Guards and interested villagers watched from the sides. Among them was Kraldar, Korir's distant cousin. Kraldar was also the only one willing to work with Revyn and the College to rebuild Winterhold.

The jarl had been off in Dawnstar when Revyn and the Argonians had arrived two weeks earlier. Upon returning he'd flown into a rage to find his Hold "invaded" and his steward vanished.

Malur Seloth, that fetcher acting as the Hold's steward, had disappeared. He was fine in his position when Korir was content to sit in his hall and rage fruitlessly about history and treacherous magis, but the evening after Revyn had introduced him to the Argonians and they'd spent hours reviewing with him the work that needed to be done in the hold, the lazy layabout had packed up and left.

Revyn suppressed a sigh. Jarl Korir was living up to his reputation as being a paranoid, magic-hating, all-around bigot.

Misguided patriot, he firmly reminded himself. "I do apologize if it appears I am intruding, but my Jarl ordered me here and told me get the Argonians settled in so they can start work. I was under the impression that the project to build Winterhold a dock and create a breakwater was already approved by you. Your former steward had already taken in the initial funds I brought with me and made no indication that the project was still under consideration."

The project was already preapproved but evidently Jarl Ulfric hadn't informed Jarl Korir that Argonians and Dunmer were in charge of the project and had left it to him to explain the realities.

"The project can continue when we get some proper Nords here to do the work. When can I expect them to arrive?"

"The plan is to hire locals first, my lord. Get as many of your people invested in rebuilding. The Argonians have skills in the water that will make underwater construction easier and less dangerous to us land dwellers who drown too easily. And the Dunmer soon to come are experienced architects and builders who used to work at Vivec City. Vivec City, in case you didn't know, was a city built on water."

"No one said anything about rebuilding Winterhold over water!" Korir roared.

"Gods! How utterly ridiculous! You elves know nothing about Nords!" said Thaena.

Revyn gently cleared his throat. "So saith my Jarl, the Stormcloak of Windhelm, 'Winterhold started as a fishing village and a port where our Atmoran ancestors built warships that sailed to all ports of Tamriel. It is time they started honoring their dead by living and going forward. Let all Tamriel know that something of their ancient glory yet survives.'"

"Yes. And we did it without the help of you damned elves and lizards," said Korir arrogantly. Revyn refrained from mentioning Atmoran use of Falmer slave labor and dragon patrons.

"As you say, my lord. But even the Stormcloak is starting to accept the idea that to throw off the Empire and the Dominion some outside, non-Nord help may be needed. And against the Dominion, even magic."

Revyn recalled and silently recited the ninth book of _The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec_ while the jarl ranted about the evils of magic and of the College of Winterhold.

"Apologies and regrets, my lord, I cannot agree with you. The College has provided invaluable help with the recent vampire battle. In that battle both Stormcloak and Imperial forces fought alongside the Dawnguard and the Companions to defeat the vampire army of Volkihar. The vampires had powerful magic and the College provided mages and magic weapons and spells to counter the vampires.

"As for the College destroying Winterhold, there is documentation, records and reports and letters, in Windhelm that show Winterhold had suffered for at least a century of increasing rains and storms and fierce tides ever since the disasters in Morrowind. These things weakened the ground, the waters saturating and leeching the soil until the land could no longer bear its own weight. The College remained because it was built on the pillar of rock and enchanted ice that still holds it. This part of Winterhold still stands because the land beneath was also more rock than soil."

"Of course you would defend the College, elf," said Korir. "But I know what I know and that's the end of it.

"I did agree with Jarl Ulfric that my Hold needed help to recover and I did agree to a loan for the dock. And I recall the part where he said his people would find the ones to do the building," Korir said bitterly. "I continue to support Ulfric, but you may take to your master that I am angry about this invasion of elves and lizards even if it is to the benefit of my people."

+—+—+—+—+

"That went better than I had expected," said Kraldar. "I was expecting him to order his guards to escort you out of town."

"I think we both know he isn't going to say no to Ulfric," said Revyn dryly.

"No one wants that." Kraldar chuckled and signaled for the innkeeper to bring another jug of mead.

"I do hope he sees sense in appointing you as his new steward," said Revyn. "I know you two have some disagreements about how things should be run."

"He fears the College; I continue to view them as an asset to Winterhold," said Kraldar dismissively. "I've always made an effort to maintain good relations with the former Arch-Mage and I've continued that effort with the present lady, the Dragonborn." Kraldar smiled. "What a frustrating piece she is to my cousin. The Dragonborn, the Hero of legend, is an Imperial and a wizard. Oh, how he and his cronies choked on that." He sighed. "I've invited her several times to dinner — fostering good relations you understand, but she always politely turns me down. I understand she's a very busy lady, but I do hope she will one day accept."

"I wouldn't hold much hope for her accepting any dining invitation," said Revyn, half-smiling and shrugging. "Even when Jarl Ulfric managed to force a dinner attendance upon her she never removed that mask. She sat through a four-hour feast without eating or drinking.

"She is fanatical about her privacy. Dragons are bad enough, but people will expect her to solve all their problems. But if you would foster relations with the College, try Master Tolfdir. Besides being a Nord he is the Master of Wizards and is practically the Arch-Mage in all but title. It was a, um, political necessity within the College to elect the Dragonborn to Arch-Mage though she was a student for less than a year. She has the power of the thu'um, of course, but while brilliant she is not one of their best students. She misses too many classes because of dragons and other problems."

"You think he'll be able to get the Arch-Mage to talk to me then?" asked Kraldar. Revyn shook his head.

"My advice, if you care to take it, is that making a friend of the College means making friends with as many Masters as you can. While the faculty will follow the lead of the Arch-Mage, may take orders and obey directives, they are ultimately, by reason of their craft, individuals. Again, if you will recall, the Dragonborn was not even a student for a year before extraordinary events forced her into action. She has skill and talent and certainly the will to wield power, but more important to them was her status as Dragonborn. The College's reputation in Skyrim is scraping bottom as you well know and having a hero as the figurehead is invaluable.

"Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I think so." Kraldar sighed. "Perhaps I have been going about this all wrong. It's more work than I'd hoped for. But," he said, brightening, "I can see it gives me more options. If a master doesn't have the time to work with me, they'll probably loan me students who can."

"That's the general idea. Now, if there were only a similar way to win Jarl Korir's regard," Revyn said morosely.

Kraldar grinned. "I've an idea. Korir's been obsessing about a lost ancient heirloom that he believes will help him win the respect of the other jarls. I know he tried getting your wife interested in finding it for him, but she found other jobs more interesting than hunting around for a lost item he wasn't sure truly existed, where it could be found, or what it even looked like."

Revyn snorted. "Hiring someone else to find him respect is not a quest my wife would be interested in. What magical object of respect it it that he seeks?"

"The helm of an ancestor of the First Era. He lost the claim for High King to Borgas, his cousin, and only became Jarl of Winterhold after Borgas's death."

"Another rusty crown hunt?" Revyn shook his head in disbelief. "What is it with all these mystical crowns? Jarl Ulfric wanted the Jagged Crown of High King Borgas and so she finds it. And so Jarl Korir thinks this ancestral crown will solidify his claim to power in the same way? Unbelievable!"

"A war helm not a crown. And I'm afraid so." Kraldar chuckled. "Although, I've yet to hear the other jarls falling to their knees to declare Ulfric the High King for having the Jagged Crown. I doubt having the war helm of Jarl Hanse will help my kinsman find the respect he hasn't earned from the other jarls."

"Wait. Hanse? Hanse Magnbjorn? Hanse the Great Bear?" Revyn looked as if there was something foul in his mead, the way he was grimacing at his cup.

"Yes, that's the one. I believe he was called that because he looked like a bear and was about as subtle as one, if family legends are true."

"Then I might have had that helm back home. My wife's cousin, Nicky, sold me a sack of stuff of items he picked up while on one of his jobs for the Companions. One item was an Atmoran war helm in remarkably good shape for its age. The horns are chipped and one broken in half. The leather padding inside was dried and cracked, but enough remained that First Era scholars were able to read the name of 'Hanse Magnbjorn.'"

"Remarkable! Do you still have it?"

"Er, no. I had it fixed up with bonemold horns replacing the originals, the leather interior replaced, and the metal retempered and polished. Some of the silver inlay had been gouged out so I had new silver laid in. Jarl Ulfric bought it to add to his personal armory. I can try to rebuy it back from him or persuade him to gift it to Korir if you think it will sweeten Korir's attitude."

"I'm sure it would help," said Kraldar. "With that new helm I'm sure I could convince my cousin to go out and practice his new found influence and start building some relations with the other jarls instead of sitting in his hall and sulking."

"I can loan you an amulet of Dibella to help with talking if you'd like. I will also throw in some other restored ancient Atmoran armor pieces including a set of enchanted weapons. Not College magic but enchantments laid by the Atmorans themselves just to prove they weren't shy about using magic to aid their conquests."

They continued to make further plans. Revyn retired much happier about Winterhold's future. Tomorrow he'd be outfitted with his own warmth and waterbreathing enchanted gear because the Argonians wanted to show him the intact, sunken buildings below the dropoff (whatever that was) that contained a good many treasures not washed away in the tides. If those could be salvaged, it could fund much of Winterhold's rebuilding instead of draining precious coin from Eastmarch and the Gray Quarter.

And next week was Hogithum, Azura's summoning day. Already the town was seeing Dunmer pilgrims, the largest group seen in decades, coming into town for rest and supplies before their final trek to the shrine. Revyn drifted off to sleep while listening to some pilgrims practicing songs praising the Prince of Dusk and Dawn.


	39. The Ritual

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

A/N: Backflash to the days after Revyn's marriage. Lore bending/speculation on Chimer break. Song inspirations: "Ritual is the Best Excuse" by Cynthia McQuillin & "The Heat is On" by Glenn Frey. _History rehash (Italicized text)_. In #2 _Homeward Bound_ we saw the wedding day through Helsette's eyes, we'll see how that day went through Revyn's.

* * *

WINTERHOLD: THE RITUAL

"What's your sign?"

"Hm?" Revyn dragged his attention from his reports to his companions. He was sitting at a table in the Frozen Hearth along with his hired bodyguard, Arven.

Arven repeated, "What's your sign? I mean, I never really thought about my birth sign. The Warrior, by the way, good enough and I never thought about the others. But I guess it's more significant to you people."

"Someone's been teaching you about them?" Revyn asked, amused.

"Well, boss, if you were paying attention we were discussing birth signs and if they really influence our lives," answered Arven, grinning. 'We' being him and the five others seated at the table. The Frozen Hearth was filled with Dunmer pilgrims all coming for Hogithum, the 21st day of First Seed, Azura's summoning day that was two days from now. "So I was just wondering what your sign is?"

"Ah. I was born this month of the Ritual," answered Revyn.

"And talents, what are the supposed gifts the Ritual — Ritualists? — have or can do?" Arven asked.

+—+—+—+—+

Aranea Ienith was the only priestess that remained at Azura's shrine after the unkind passage of time. The cold of Winterhold and the resurgence of hostility and fear from the Nords after the Great Collapse had driven the Dunmer and the faithful out of the Hold. Of all the priests and shamans and wise women only she remained on this desolate, frozen peak.

The dragon finally descended from the sky to rest on the ruins atop Mount Anthor. It looked like it had snatched a baby mammoth so once it fed it should be sleeping for a long, safe while. Revyn slinked out from the shadows of an overhang.

 _He remembered Mount Anthor. Many of the stones used to build the Shrine of Azura had been salvaged from the ruins atop Mount Anthor. Amused Dunmer mages studying at the College had used their magic to transport ashlars between peaks. They didn't understand the madness that infected these Ashlanders but it was good practice for their telekinetic spells. The ruins had a giant cement wall inscribed in characters the Dunmer did not recognize. Masons had admired the quality of the cement, easily thousands of years old. And the inscription on the wall looked to have been gouged in by giant claws before the cement had set. Back then the refugees had wondered what sort of creature from Oblivion had done the writing. Now Revyn knew it had been a dragon._

He carefully studied the area around him for dangerous animals. He wore chitin goggles modified to restrict light and reduce snow glare. He dug the pointed butt-end of his chitin spear into the snow and absent-mindedly rolled the shaft between his palms as he tracked a fox running by and listened for anything vaguely predatory but the two mountain goats he also spotted seemed relaxed.

 _He was 20 when he'd come to Skyrim, his immigration boat landing first at Windhelm and then he had come north to Winterhold hoping that others of his own family had come on the boats to Winterhold. They hadn't. At a loss of what to do, he'd joined with a group following Ashlander priests of Azura into the mountains to build a shrine to the Prince._

 _The Dunmer already in Winterhold couldn't believe why so many Ashlanders had suddenly come to Skyrim just because a Daedra had sent some ash covered witches visions of disaster. And this babbling about a heresy called the Nerevarine was beyond understanding. Then word came that the Tribunal had fallen, the Ghostgate and its thousands of souls had vanished, and Red Mountain had erupted._

 _Baar Dau was the great rock flung from the heavens during the 2nd Era by Sheogorath in his rage at the hubris of the Tribunal. The God Vivec stopped the rock in its flight, letting it hang above his city as proof of his power and a warning that should his faithful ever stop loving him, the rock would fall. Vivec's priests hollowed out the rock to create offices for the Ordinators and prison cells for dangerous heretics. They called it the Ministry of Truth._

 _The Truth hit hard. The Nerevarine came by the will of Azura of the original Tribunal of Daedra Princes. In his original life he was Indoril Nerevar and his destiny was to unite the tribes against the Nords who invaded seeking the Doom-Drum or Heart of Lorkhan, or Shor as they insisted on calling the trickster god. Most terrible amongst the five leaders of the invaders was Ysmir and his Tongues._

 _Nerevar united the Velothi, made allies with the Dwemer, and killed the chieftains of the invaders, but left only Ysmir alive to kick him and the Tongues out of Resdayn as a warning to any future, would-be invaders._

 _Shortly thereafter he died. Ashlanders believed he was slain by his wife and two remaining trusted councilors. They used the heart to make themselves gods and usurp the mantle of Tribunal, calling themselves the ALMSIVI. And the Chimer became the Dunmer. CHI to Dun; power to ash._

 _Eventually, he came back to put an end to the madness. The False Tribunal vanished. Baar Dau smashed Vivec City into the swamp. Red Mountain erupted a second time and destroyed Vvardenfell; its ash rose high and still spews a veil of ash. The lands its ash veiled changed. Half of Solstheim mirrors Morrowind. Winterhold got colder, the seas fiercer, then Winterhold collapsed a century later into the sea._

 _And Azura, from her shrine in Winterhold, her faced turned to Morrowind, watched._

"Good morning, reverend," said Revyn. He hadn't been back in decades and to see the priestess living up here with only a barebones tent was disheartening and shameful. He could see no food supplies or even a decent supply of wood to keep a fire burning for a day. As he looked into her face he knew the Prince sustained her. She was middle-aged when she led her priests and followers up this mountain and yet, 200 years later, she did not look to have aged. The bone-freezing cold winds did not affect her though she only wore standard-weight robes and hooded shawl. Revyn, on the other hand, wearing the thickest leather and furs he could manage and still be able to hike up a mountain, was shivering.

She regarded him impassively. "The little bird flies before the storm," she said, "And the monster returns from the void and howls, his hunger unsated."

"Um..." Revyn blinked, uncertain. He didn't understand the first allusion but the second he thought might refer to the dragons.

"Why have you returned, my son?"

"I came, reverend, because I need guidance and to beg Azura's protection for my wife who is an adventurer."

"She is more than that," the priestess said.

"Well, yes, there is a bit more. An ancient spirit, an Atmoran dragonpriest, has told her she is 'Dragonborn,' and when she killed a dragon she found it was true when she absorbed its soul. They—" he waved his left hand vague in the direction of the distant mountain Nords called Throat-of-the-World, "—the Tongues have confirmed her as Dragonborn. She's supposed to fight the son of Auri-El and stop him from destroying the world."

"The World-Eater is not the only enemy to be faced," the priestess intoned. "There will be many before the Black Dragon and, if she is victorious, even more enemies after.

"It is the nature of dragons to seek power and, when challenged, to dominate. Not evil in itself. They are, after all, the children of their creator. But separate, nevertheless, from their source, they become subject to change."

Revyn shivered, this time in dread, at the small smiling curling the priestess's lips. He didn't think it was the priestess smiling. She was speaking again.

"Her sign is the Steed and she charges fearlessly forward. With speed and voice she will shake the foundations of worlds. There are many paths she may take to power. The Serpent chases her and seeks to twist all into confusion. Many are the agents of the Divine and the Daedra who wait for her.

"Of all the signs she might have taken up she chooses the Ritual of Change to confound the Serpent and light her way. She chooses you as her first true mate. Do not forget this.

"You, whose time and place of birth was in the shadow of the Mad God. Hold true to the long path of Dusk and Dawn and use the unexpected gifts of your unsettled patron to balance the odds and tip scales to your dragon's favor."

Invoke madness. Did he hear aright? And 'patron?' He was no worshipper of that one despite being born during one of the rare thunderstorms that the God Vivec allowed into his city on the dawn of Azura's day. Irritated by an insurgence of daedra worshipping cults or a quarrel with Sotha Sil, who could presume to tell?

"But, reverend..." he pleaded weakly, "Ysmir? That's what they call her. The Tongues of High Hrothgar proclaim her the Dragon of the North. Please tell me it's an affectation. She cannot be that great evil reborn. I couldn't bear it if she was."

"When Mundus was made, aspects of power were torn from the Aedra who survived the making. The incarnation of these aspects have had many names. There will be many banners the aspect of Auri-El, the dragon-born, will carry. Many Houses possessed. Many names assumed. That is not important. Only the work. If Nirn ceases, if the Motion stops, if the Balance vanishes, all will collapse. The Aedra will forever lose that part of themselves trapped, imprisoned and yet defined in Mundus; the Daedra lose the anchor we have built our realms upon for change cannot happen if there is nothing to change.

"The power is immutable. The shape of power is subject to change. The goddess has foreseen that time, place, and shape will center upon a child born of two ancient lines of Velothi and Al-Esh. As she will shape the world, the world will shape her."

Revyn stared blankly up at the face of the Prince. He was getting riddles. He wasn't asking the right questions. The answers weren't fitting.

"And inside is out and up is down," he muttered in frustration.

"And the middle ground is the line between the land and sea," the priestess added.

Well, that was a confusing session. While it was gratifying the Prince had deigned to talk to him via the priestess, it was also terrifying that the Prince would even bother to do so with his humble, insignificant self.

Not so humble, not so insignificant, was the tiny bloom of ego amidst his confusion. Azura, Prince of Dusk and Dawn, the Rose of Adversity, was also the embodiment of ego or pride or vanity — whatever the name given to that quality that believes more is deserved. Vice or virtue that screams "Me First!"

"'Of all... she chooses you... her first true mate.'" He hugged those fragments close to his heart and let them echo as he trudged down the mountain. "First..." Well, he was much older than her. He'd expect her to find someone else when he was gone. Or he'd find one for her if necessary.

She was another adventurer come to his shop to sell stuff. A beautiful Dunmer girl who dared wear chitin armor in a city of mer-hating Nords. He'd heard gossip about Helsette Faro, the girl named after the last Dunmer king and who shared the same family name as General Faro, a Dunmer, of the Imperial Legion. She'd come off from the boat from Solstheim but her accent marked her from around Cheydinhal (another link to General Faro who as also of Cheydinhal), and she'd dived right into bounty hunting. Indeed, most of the stuff she offered for sale was goods salvaged from robbers' chests. It had been quite a shock to see the mercenary with such a bloody reputation was a mere child. And he'd quite lost his heart to her when he'd heard her singing that night at the Cornerclub. They'd talked until dawn. It pleased him that thereafter she came first to him when she wanted to sell or buy things.

But it was both pleasure and pain dealing with her — he loved her intelligence, humor, gods-lovely voice and bright smile, and when she left he was left wishing he was so much younger that he could go with her and court her. She was the beautiful Armiger of his youthful fantasies. He'd tried pretending she was a daughter or niece like Karliah, the daughter of a dead friend of his, but Helsette actively rejected that category. He stubbornly refused to think that half the time she was flirting with him.

Then Karliah had sold him stolen goods, expensive trinkets taken from nobles attending the last major court session of the season. He'd been so distraught by this betrayal he'd blurted out his problem to Helsette. She stunned him by insisting on handling the problem. He'd given in. Not long after she'd flatly told him she wanted marriage.

Madness. She was only 18, not an adult by mer standards yet he allowed his passion to subvert his morals with the fact that she was half human, and humans matured at a faster rate because their lives were so much shorter. So maybe, just maybe she took after her human sire and was allowably matured enough.

But he, what had he to offer her? A shop of second-hand goods in a slum. Oh, he made a decent income but she could attract so much more, so much better. She may be playing at a hand-to-mouth existence as a blade-for-hire, but the clues were there in her speech, her manners, her breadth of knowledge that she came from privilege.

And "Dragonborn." Yes, she'd told him this, but its full import had failed to register; he was still coming to terms that she was a Hlaalu and Imperial who was also a member of House Telvanni. At that time, all he knew of this piece of Nord mythology was from that "Dragonborn Comes" song of recent popularity. From that song he inferred that this Dragonborn was the Nord version of the Nerevarine. Another hero to drive out foreigners.

He was sure the Nords would enjoy a mer Dragonborn like his people enjoyed a human Nerevarine. But, oh, it was suppose to be a secret that she didn't want anyone knowing unless absolutely unavoidable. Asking local Nords about Dragonborns would only have elicited pompous boasts about how Man, especially Nords, were favored to wield the power of dragons. That Tiber Septim... Blahblahblah. So he didn't ask.

What he knew for certain was that she was an Armiger in spirit and deed. A light-hearted Hero skilled in battle and poetry. And being married to a Hero was never going to be a comfortable, complacent union. He thought he'd considered all the gain/loss points and margins right up until the day they were married. He hadn't figured the type of enemies his beloved hero made.

His Ancestors had been agitated from the moment he'd accepted her proposal, but he'd pushed aside their nagging doubts. When her enemies dared attack her in Mara's Temple in Riften, his Ancestors had rushed to support him as he called upon their Sanctuary to protect himself when the attackers had seized him and shoved him in front to take the brunt of the hellfire issuing from his beloved's mouth. When the priests of Mara threw them out after the enemies were defeated, the Ancestors told him they'd accept the bond if it was sealed in fire, in the way a group of heretics rejected the Altmer path to become the Chimer.

In fire and calling upon Boethiah they changed their nature from light to fire. Believers changed, the uncertain, the insincere, burned.

He wanted to marry a dragon? Fine. All or nothing. In the marketplace was Balimund's business, the Scorched Hammer. Freshly salted, the fires there burned hot as Red Mountain. Forge the bond there. He'd already spent his fires in Mara's Temple and he couldn't resist the heat of the forge for long; he nearly died.

Then Sanctuary and healing in her return fire. And he knew without a doubt she loved him.

The Riften guards threw them in separate cells for the slaughter in Mara's Temple and setting fire to the marketplace. They were released the next day after promising monies for the repairs and Revyn's friends put up a large purse for the initial fines.

Their first time together was on a pad under a bush, out of hearing distance from the rest of the party. And she was gone the next morning, off on another unknown mission.

And he'd come here to Winterhold wondering how many different types of fool he was. He'd found books on the Dragonborn and read them on the carriage ride up to Winterhold.

Yet, no matter how bad the information was, he could only feel... Well, he was hopeless.

Not yet ready to return home, he wandered northward to the coast. Long ago he'd turned to peddling after leaving the work camp after Azura's shrine was built. He was the son a caravan merchant after all. A slow, sturdy horse and packs of goods to trade. He'd travel the coastal route to Dawnstar, harvesting nirnroots, crabs, and slaughterfish eggs. He liked slaughterfish eggs. Cooked and spiced right they tasted like kwama eggs, especially if he got the fish eggs just before they hatched.

He'd passed the Saarthal ruins when he saw activity ahead. A woman trapped on a crumbling slope by three ice wolves. Her only weapon seemed to be a long knife. Long, heavy dress, no armor. Nord. She fended off the wolves, just barely. He shook his head and found some rocks to crouch behind. Wind was blowing crosswise kept his scent from alerting the animals. He made sure his coat was belted tight, the straps of his pack were tied up and nothing loose, that his scarf ends were tucked in. Last act was to coat his spearhead and his dagger with a poison that he always kept on hand for defense. The poison did its work while his thick coat helped to endure the biting and thrashing until the wolves faltered, losing coordination and strength. Then he and the woman finished them off.

Her name was Isabelle and she was looking for a cave that was supposed to have a goodly amount of treasure. All she had to do was to sneak past the necromancers there. She had trained for sneaking with a group of thieves in Riften. Revyn studied her. She was in a heavy-weight dress suitable for walking around town. Aside from lockpicks she did not appear to have any special gear. Her knife skills did not appear to be anything special.

Revyn couldn't talk her out of this insane mission. She was young, inexperienced, and besotted with some dream of making a better future for herself and her boyfriend by making one big heist. The boyfriend was too upstanding and honorable to consider thieving, but she wasn't, except she refused to steal from honest working people.

He couldn't convince her to give up the made scheme so he convinced her to let him come along. Besides being descended of caravan merchants, his bloodline also included Ashlander witches. He knew some ways in dealing with zombies. His accursed weakness for headstrong, adventurous girls wouldn't let him abandon her to certain death or the hell of enslavement by necromancers.

At least she knew how to move quietly and hide once he'd gotten her into a spare set of his pants, shirt, and soft boots. She was also fairly decent with a mace and shield taken from a skeleton Revyn had knocked apart with his spear and a small flame spell. From another skeleton he salvaged a bow and a full quiver.

To their good luck and some other soul's ill fortune, the strongest necromancers were occupied in complicated ritual with said poor soul. This allowed Revyn and Isabelle to sneak in and kill the weaker, bored apprentices and smash through the walking bone sentries.

They found an alchemy room. A poisoned arrow took care of the sleeping occupant and Revyn sorted through the potions for useful items. As he expected, there were a few strong general healing potions and even more poisons. He was no alchemist but he sold enough to give a fair assessment of potency so to better price his stock. He also knew some basic chemistry to be able to make little additions, thanks to the Altmer chemist in Windhelm, one of the best in Tamriel really, who was willing to give him tips in exchange for steep discounts on ingredients from Morrowind. Isabelle wasn't comfortable with the necessity for poisons, it wasn't honorable, but Revyn sternly lectured her on using every advantage against enemies of greater number and abilities. And with necromancers who defiled the boundaries of life and death, honorable battle should never to be considered.

Clay bottles filled with solutions shattered when flung into braziers around the ritual room and the contents turned to great billows of steam. While the necromancers coughed and stumbled in the vile fumes that blinded them and burned their flesh and lungs, Revyn and Isabelle rushed in with thin veils soaked in another solution to protect their eyes and lungs and their stomachs full of as much healing potions they could swallow. Revyn speared and tripped necromancers, often taking the brunt of their ill-aimed, badly mustered spells, and Isabelle dodged around and bashed in their skulls.

There was quite a bit of treasure. Once Isabelle was properly armored and armed he sent her back to Winterhold to fetch her boyfriend and her boyfriend's sister who was also the only merchant in Winterhold. Revyn stayed behind to use the spells and rituals taught to him by his mother and grandmothers to temporarily disperse evil energies and urge what lost souls he could along their way. He'd make the trip again to Azura's shrine to let the priestess know this place needed a proper cleansing. When the Nords returned, he and Birna, the Winterhold shopkeeper, discussed pricing and future stock exchanges between their shops while Isabelle and her Ranmir dragged bodies out to be burned.

+—+—+—+—+

"And talents, what are the supposed gifts the Ritual — Ritualists? — have or can do?" Arven asked.

"It depends on the aspects of the moons and the Divines," said the man opposite him.

"Aspects? What?" Arven hand his hands up in confusion. "Is that something like Khajiit and their moon phases?"

"Unfortunately. And if the Serpent is hanging about in the area. And local weather conditions." Revyn grimaced and drank his mead. "Like being born during a thunderstorm."

"For a Ritualist, that's like having the Mad God as your midwife," said someone, laughing. "But truly, that only applies if you happened to be born on Hogithum itself."

"They've got a way with the undead," threw in Isabelle, a Nord who had volunteered to help at the inn to handle the sudden crowd of Dunmer in town. She didn't need the coin and she was among the few in town comfortable with mages and non-Nords. She grinned and winked at Revyn. "And self-healing. They can take hits and bounce back pretty fast."

Revyn smiled into his cup.


	40. Glow Dust

_A/N: song inspirations "Into the Darkness" by Crosby Stills Nash._

 _Galactichalfling: Thanks. Big blooper. Fixed. I've got a big problem with following too m any whimsies down the wrong bog path._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

WINTERHOLD: GLOW DUST

The climb to Azura's Shrine was arduous. At the end, the temptation just after setting up one's tent, making a campfire, and unrolling furs was just to collapse in exhaustion. If you made it up earlier in the day, then there was the luxury of relaxation and maybe even a nap if one had the discipline to awaken at the proper time.

The newly built pilgrims hall had been completed just a week before. It was a Nord-style build of one open room and a shallow, open upper level; a large hearth with iron hooks for pots and many long shelves on the walls for storage. Heating was either by the hearth or, if one needed the whole building warmed and the resources were there, by an outside furnace that could warm the leveled concrete slab the building rested upon.

The hall was built to hold about a dozen comfortably. A bit more if one didn't mind sleeping up against strangers. But with near 40 showed up already and more expected to come the next day, the hall was reserved for the very young and the old and frail ones. It would also serve as the kitchen where volunteers would cook up the shared foods brought for communal meals.

Most had the foresight to bring tents, but anonymous donors with foresight had paid the College to provide huge dome tents of cheap, thin, double layers of cotton laid over stretched over a basket of flexible bonemold poles. One layer was heavily spelled block wind and frost, and the inner layer was fireproof. Lamps hanging in a circle from the apex of the arch provided soft light and radiated warmth. Each tent was capable of sheltering 20. However, enchantments were only powered to last three days.

Not since the Shrine was built had it seen this many people in decades. This renewal of faith could be attributed to several points. First, the reappearance of Azura's Star and a champion; Priestess Ienith's tour of the Pale as she escorted a lost soul seeking healing and to honor her ancestors; Jarl Ulfric appointment of a Dunmer officer to his court and the rise of fortune in the formerly hopeless Gray Quarter; and last, various prophets in Morrowind were declaring that the Nerevarine Incarnate has returned.

Most of the Dunmer here were Ashlanders and Hlaalu, a small group of Redorans, and many unaffiliated. So a Telvanni wizard walking into camp was a sight that drew all eyes to him. Walking beside the wizard, holding his left hand, was a slender Ashlander child in a leather, silk, and chitin dress. Their clothes and ornaments shimmered with strong magics. The wizard looked bored. The child stared up at the statue of Azura with excitement and wonder.

They walked up the stairs to the top of the platform where the altar was. Its surface was overflowing with flowers, gems, and other small gifts to the Prince.

"Should I offer the glow dust now, grandfather?"

"Not yet. Only during the hours of dusk or dawn if you would draw her attention. If you like, offer this flawless garnet for now."

The acolyte attending the altar interjected, "The priestess will instruct petitioners to bring their offerings of glow dust to the altar at the appropriate time, sera, serjo."

"Excellent. Come, Tirenea, let's find some space to set up our tent." They walked around the campsite. Most of the level ground was taken up by the four large tents and six smaller ones of those who also preferred their own space.

"Mm, the food smells good! Aren't you hungry? Come on, let's eat!" The dear voice of his granddaughter jolted him out of his musings and the wizard turned and snagged her for a quick hug.

"Tirenea, dear, how can you eat in this cold?" he wondered aloud. She laughed.

"How can one not?" she answered pertly. "Eat what you can, when you can, 'cuz you never know when the next gate to hell will open!" she said, throwing his words back in his face. He laughed and stared lovingly into his granddaughter's eyes. She was 15 and her happy grin reminded him so much of her grandmother and the way she cocked her head was her father's.

He sent Tirenea to stand in the food line while he set up their domed tent. It was a small version of the larger tents but of sturdy blight moth silk instead of cotton and the spells were permanent.

She returned with bowls of horker stew, flaky, savory rolls, and his new favorite, apple and snowberry crostatas. Most Nord foods tasted bland to him, but they did know how to make sweet desserts. He was pleased to find someone had been very creative with this dessert in using alchemy to draw out the _frost resist_ magic of snowberries.

"No falling asleep," he reminded his granddaughter when he noticed her eyes drooping after she finished eating. He smiled and reached out and shook her. "Come on, let's walk around and see who's here."

They walked around the perimeter. "Is that the dragon mountain?"

"Mount Anthor. Yes, there's a dragon wall there. It was an ancient Atmoran temple. Most of the stones of this shrine were recovered and redressed from the ruins over there. Now look over there. That is what they call 'Throat-of-the-World' and somewhere on it is the monastery of the Tongues. I believe the Nords now call them 'Graybeards.'"

"There's no dragons here, right? Because of the Arch-mage?"

"Correct."

"Does she still kill it if it's peaceful?"

"That would be stupid. The Arch-mage does not impress me as a stupid woman. Come, they're starting to sing. Think you can stay awake for the next two hours?"

"Of course, grandfather."

"Very good. Let's not insult the Prince and disgrace our ancestors and ourselves by falling asleep in our duties."

As a Telvanni mage and former Mouth for a mage-lord he was considered part of the ruling class and that granted him a place at the altar level of the shrine along with the other upper class. The only face he recognized was Revyn Sadri of Windhelm. Sadri's wife was Azura's current champion, and they were House members through Mage-Lord Neloth's sponsorship.

Dusk service was mostly a time of guided contemplation. Priestess Ienith opened with a paean of praise to Azura then began instructing them on subjects to consider as the day ended. Sitting quietly, being asked to contemplate the day's events was a trial in itself for many who would rather be bustling about to close the day. And with the cold, being still and keeping warm was especially hard.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as his granddaughter approached the altar and placed her bowl of glow dust along with the others. The gifts from earlier in the day had been transferred to baskets set around the feet of the Prince. The number of glow dust offerings lit the entire platform with gentle light.

' _My purpose of my day, Azura?'_ he thought, _'they haven't changed. Find the Timberwolf and get some answers. Maybe get some answers out of Sadri. Thank you for getting him here, by the way. If he is the kin I've been seeking, well, you're damn sneaky, my prince, my utmost respect.'_ He smiled at Tirenea as she returned to his side. She smiled back and returned her attention to the priests.

Over 200 years ago he'd be an ambitious Lawman hiding out in Balmora, waiting for some tempers to cool, memories to dull, and opportunities to appear. Finally, one did. A Severus Timberwolf, an Imperial and Nord who had somehow gotten into House Telvanni and had miraculously risen above the Retainer rank all the way to Master. As per protocol he needed a Mouth to represent him in Council and the other Mouths of the Council had directed the new Master to him.

His new master. Oh, joy.

Why Timberwolf wanted to be Hortator of the House, a title not held or given out since Nerevar, he couldn't fathom, but the master seemed light-handed and didn't appear to have any great plans for the future.

Cue mildly hysterical laughter.

Since then he'd more than earned the moniker "Fast Eddie" many times over. The Tribunal "disappeared" and the Nerevarine not long after that, leaving him to dodge the questions, the fanatics, the desperate, and the fearful. Then Mehrunes Dagon invaded. Wheer were the gods this time? Where was the Nerevarine, the damned Hortator, to lead the Houses and the tribes again? Where was their promised Warlord?

Tel Uvirith fell. Sadrith Mora fell. He fled and found himself in a company of Redorans and Ashlanders who had joined their broken forces to survive. The Ashlanders had lost their wise woman and the Redorans had no magic worker. He found himself changing his discipline from common Destruction to Mysticism, all the better to anticipate where the gates would open. Scrying and Forecasting weren't his strong points and took great effort, but the other arts of Alteration and the vampiric magics were useful tools.

One of the Ashlander leaders was Tirenea. Her tribe had already been broken having sent many away to what they hoped was safety on the mainland while she and other die-hards and elders stayed to fight back anything that came from behind the fallen Ghostgate. The few weeks they had together had been glorious. But she had to leave with an escort unit and he'd had foreshadows of another Gate and left with a Redoran attack group.

He didn't know about the son he'd had with her until years later when Redorans tracked him down. There were no Ashlanders of her family they could find. She'd mentioned Sadri kin in Vivec, but Vivec was a smoking, boiling, accursed swamp after Sheogorath and the Argonians were done there, that's why it was now called Scathing Bay. His was the only name they had left.

The last of the sunlight faded and only the glowdust light illuminated until the moons above reflected their light upon Mundus. Most people dispersed to the tents and the warmth within. Others lingered, continuing their prayers or waiting to consult the priests. Tirenea left the altar — she knew how to cast _Candlelight_ — and he moved towards Sadri.

"Sadri, well met."

"Master Edd Theman, I thought I recognized you. Well met indeed."

"We need to talk."

"Oh? Oh. Oh, dear." Edd frowned at the nuances he heard in the other's voice. Why were all his wartime senses firing up? Why did Sadri sound distressed and puzzled? Edd knew he hadn't moved but the other suddenly held his hands up in a conciliatory manner.

"I do have to talk to someone first, but let's meet in the Hall, Master Theman. This won't take long."

The Hall was crowded by his Telvanni robes afforded him some space as people moved to avoid intruding on his person.

"Grandfather, grandfather, taste this!" Tirenea was suddenly beside him and holding up a bowl that looked like thin, white intestines swimming in red and with chunks of meat. Didn't smell like offal.

"What is that horror?"

"Boiled flour paste strings in a tomato based sauce and horker sausage."

"Paste strings."

"Like a dumpling but rolled flat and cut before being dropped into boiling water. Savela says her mother and aunt are setting up a shop to make these."

"And who is Savela?"

"I'll get her!" She pushed the bowl into his hands and slipped away before he could stop her.

Not bad. Messy eating with a two-tined fork, but promising flavor.

A gentle throat clearing and he looked over at Sadri.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting; I am at your service. What did you wish to talk about?"

"You came from Vivec City, didn't you?"

"Yes, indeed. My family ran a shop in the Hlaalu Canton selling items we traded the Ashlanders for."

"Urshilaku."

"Yes. And Zainab."

"Your mother's an ashwitch." A hit. Sadri's eyes narrowed. "Your grandmother, the wise woman of the tribe. I met your kin in Oblivion. Literally. We grabbed a sigil stone. It was a lovely engagement."

Sadri didn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, he turned to a nearby side table where the booze had been set up and snagged a bottle of sujamma. "What is your interest in my background?"

"I've been looking for a particular family of the Sadri clan. I didn't ask when we first met on Solstheim. Other concerns took precedent. Then later you were handling an Oblivion gate problem of your own.

"Congratulations, by the way, Apocrypha is as deadly a realm as the Deadlands.

"And if you were the particular family line I was looking for, I wanted more information before talking to you again."

Revyn sighed. "Oh, wonderful. Another unknown family member announces themselves," he said. The look he gave Edd was hard and sharp. "So you know my Ashlander kin. Which ones?"

"Tirenea."

"And why in Oblivion, literally, would she speak to a Telvanni wizard of our kinship? Why would it matter to you?" The other's eyes had an insulting gleam as they looked Edd up and down. "I suppose you appealed to her. Is there a child involved? That little girl I saw with you. She calls you grandfather."

Ah, no insulting gleam had he seen there but narrowed eyes shimmering with tears.

"Grandfather, grandfather, this is Savela!"

Edd looked over the girl his granddaughter was towing by the hand. A pretty one and half human. For all her adult size he estimated she was not much older than his granddaughter in terms of years. The girl inclined her head respectfully at him, murmuring, "Serjo," and then looked over at Sadri. "Master Revyn," she greeted with a wide smile. "Master, this is Tirenea. Tirenea, this is my master, Revyn Sadri. I'm apprenticed to him."

"Sera." Tirenea gave him a bright, trusting smile.

"Bless and be blessed, Tirenea." Sadri glanced at him, his expression asking, "Does she know?"

Edd moved his head slightly, lowering his eyelids. No.

He watched as Sadri slipped smoothly into the role of family friend and uncle. He expected no less. The mer had that reputation. A cautionary reputation for being able to cozen out secrets. He searched his memory again for any scraps his Tirenea had told him of her young Sadri cousin. Resourceful, overly friendly by Ashlander standards with strangers, but that could be attributed to trader habits learned from his father; intuitive in a way most in the tribe believed him to have a shaman's potential. Tirenea had remembered him with love and hoped he had escaped Vivec before its downfall. If he had made it to Skyrim, there would always be a welcome if they could find him.

Much later the girls had retired to one the great tents to continue talking and to share a sleeping a pad. Sadri accompanied him to his private tent. Edd told him how he'd met Tirenea, what he knew of the end of her Family from what memories she shared, the son he never knew until after Tirenea's death. The boy had been most Redoran so it was a tough adjustment. The boy had his mother's stubbornness but they eventually reconciled. His son's marriage to a Hlaalu girl. Then, their deaths in distant Narsis when another wave of Argonian invaders rolled through there.

Sadri explained his reaction at the altar when Edd had said they needed to talk. He'd had a dream the night before that he was again with his cousins the days before he'd had to leave for Vivec City. Cousin Tirenea was inexplicably holding a baby. Of course, in dreams, such unusual things appear and disappear and often strange "knowings" as perfectly natural. Like, he "knew" the child was hers and yet he knew for fact it wouldn't be until next year she would legally be considered an adult, and that she wasn't even promised to anyone yet. And then he'd seen the child in Ashlander dress standing beside Edd and that fragment of dream had forced itself into his thoughts.

They shed their tears separately. Edd let Sadri have the tent. He went again to the edge of the camp, this time to the part that faced the College of Winterhold, his new home and Tirenea's. Here the wind was stronger and the cold seeped through his enchantments. A cloak of fire took care of that. It also scared away a pair of frost trolls that had been drawn by the scent of food.

After Solstheim he'd gone to Cheydinhal to meet with Inelisi Faro. The matriarch's advice had been for him to settle somewhere and take care of his granddaughter. If it was destined, then the Nerevarine would find him again. So he'd settled in Winterhold. Savos Aren had impressed him and the College was fighting to regain its reputation as top center of learning. Aren had written a letter of recommendation and the College happily accepted. He hadn't any experience in teaching so he wouldn't have to teach novices for now.

He was sorry there weren't any other Dunmer children in Winterhold and too few Nord children there. Yet seeing how Sadri and Tirenea connected, he was certain she would be spending plenty of time in Windhelm.

In another hour it would be time for Dawn service. A small sacrifice of sleep time. Last night had been for contemplation and collection. Dawn was for rebirth and repurpose. He wandered up to the altar. The glow dust had been scattered by the night's winds and the entire platform glittered. Dust was still in the air, a ghostly moonpath from the mountain to the sky. He leaned forward, palms resting on the altar.

 _Total the transactions; count the till  
_ _Until. Now  
_ _What have I traded  
_ _What have I sold  
_ _What have I banked  
_ _What, oh, what do I have left in me  
In the last hours of my day_

 _I have dust, my prince_  
 _Glowing dust_  
 _Was I careful enough  
_ _Was I thoughtful enough  
_ _Is there enough  
_ _To light my way to dawn_

He straightened and turned to the camp to wake his granddaughter. The faithful below were stirring. Tirenea was skipping out of the tent, a ball of light above her head like her own personal moon. She easily spotted him and waived. He damped down his flame cloak and went to meet her.


	41. Brother Owl, pt1

_A/N: Bloopers. I keep doing things like confusing Mehrunes Dagon with Molag Bal or getting characteristics of Azura/Boethiah/Mephala mixed up — one of my favorite Superbowl commercials for Snickers candy is the one where the guy spends hours carefully painting the team's logo on the field only to have a player for the K.C. Ch_ _ **i**_ _efs say, "Hey, that's great! Who are the Chefs?" Great googly-moogly. Anyway, big thanks to sharp-"i" readers._

 _A/N: Warning — Academic lecture mode engaged. Thought of cutting it out for length, but decided it was too important to my version of events._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

BROTHER OWL, Part 1

 _He stepped over the flattened, empty corpses. Through the miasma, there, the waft of a cool breeze bearing the cool, damp scents of wet wood, fungi, leaves flush with water and warming in sunlight. He eagerly followed it, scenting the air like a dog._

 _Another lost seeker of knowledge? No. This one perused the untitled books with a frown of derision. He was tall, his age indeterminate. He wore a loincloth, a leather vest, leather slipper shoes, and feathered headdress and feathered mantle of gray and white._

 _A dim memory of his childhood illuminated. Old villages. Villages of nonbelievers. Men in pelts of bear and wolves. A rare few in feathers. Shamans._

 _Shamans stripped of their furs and their hearts torn out for sacrifices to the dragons. Feathers burning, roasting in dragon fire._

 _The shaman creature saw him and approached in an effortless glide. He was neither young nor old. Broad, strong face. Broad, fuzzy feathers that framed his face and form. The fuzzy edges of his pinions fluttered in the air, sweeping the currents, silencing the sound of his approach._

 _He wretched his gaze away from the too-knowing eyes and focused on the silver triangle ornament at the base of the other's throat._

 _The raptor was upon him. He opened his mouth, but to his horror only a faint squeak emerged. The shaman smiled._

 _"All these books about and words fail you? What kind of teacher have you had?"_

 _A bony fist encased in a glove with talons, rapped sharply against his forehead. It wasn't a particularly hard knock, but the power of a Divine was behind it and he staggered back and fell hard on his tailbone._

 _"Sister Hawk taught you how to speak. Learned you nothing from me? Have you been taking notes? Word of mouth is all very well and good, but some things just have to be written down to be remembered. Even dreams. Even lies."_

 _Large eyes, irises orange as the blood moons, blinked thoughtfully as the Divine turned his head to study the restless dervishes of loose leaflets. "So many words in stagnant air. Stories told in graves."_

+—+—+—+—+

Revyn had returned from the Hogithum celebration to the Frozen Hearth and Dagur had given him a note from Savos Aren to meet him in the Arcaneum. Savos traveling here from Solstheim didn't bode well and Revyn feared matters were finally coming to a head. When he got to the College, Tolfdir was waiting for him in the Arcaneum.

"We could see the fires at the shrine from here, a good celebration I take it?" asked Tolfdir after greeting him.

"A very good one, thank you."

"Excellent. Come this way, we're upstairs in the Archmage's room." As they walked upstairs Tolfdir said, "I had drinks with Kraldar at the Frozen Hearth. It's nice to see someone in the Jarl's court willing to put more effort into Winterhold's future — and willing to listen to others' points of view."

"I've very glad he does listen. And we're working on a way to get the jarl and his wife out of town so that Kraldar has more room to work."

"I'm sure you'll find a way; I've faith in you. After all, you talked the jarl into appointing him steward. Quite the feat with the two of them butting heads as often as they do."

The round conference table set near the central garden had books and papers scattered over its surface. An ancient looking carving of an owl done in ivory perched on a stack of papers in the center of the table. Savos looked up as they came in. He was dressed in the hooded version of the common clothes worn around Raven Rock. Loremaster Urag was slouched in a chair, muttering under his breath as he read some papers.

"Savos, good to see you."

"You also, Revyn," Savos replied.

"Master Urag, read any good books lately?"

Urag grunted and stuck a fiery finger in the air.

Revyn laughed and turned to Savos. "Dare I ask . . ."

"It's not good, my friend."

"Oh." Revyn looked around and spotted a light meal setup and bottles on a side table. Honningbrew ale. He helped himself to a bottle then went to stand beside Savos. "What's happened?"

"Miraak has managed to retake the Raven Rock earthstone. I've persuaded Neloth to actually do something about it and he's set up some countermeasures so that the people in Raven Rock aren't affected too much, only those too susceptible, and then it's drawing sleeping reavers into town. And this time the sleepers actively attack if a non-sleeper approaches the area."

" _Vith_."

"Exactly. He's making use of all the power he's stolen from your wife's kills. I'm afraid she'll need the full shout to break his hold this time." Savos actually reached out to touch Revyn's arm. "And Storn has said his hold on the sleepers is worse. Before, he only stole a few hours of life and now he steals their souls as sacrifices to Hermaeus Mora if they should die. We tried drugging one — Bralsa — as a way to get her away from the stone. We even brought her to the isolation room in the manor to ensure no magic could touch her. She is physically unharmed, but we can't wake her. We can spoon water, thin soup, into her but even as I left she is wasting away in sleep. Storn says it was like you were. Almost. Miraak got you because of your connection to your wife. For these souls Storn says a new, unholy power has been exerted to steal souls.

"It may be that Miraak has gotten powerful enough to be significant to Mora again so now he's giving aid to his champion, especially since she's stubbornly refusing his offers. He may have been content to sit back and let the dragonborns battle it out, but perhaps now he's gotten ambitious."

Revyn studied Savos intently. He was reminded of the day the former Archmage had entered his shop. The weariness was back, so were the traces of pain and sensitivity to magic, a permanent side-effect of nearly dying from a device called the Eye of Magnus. Savos was wearing the amulet Storn had made that shielded one's mind against magical influence. He recalled now that Savos's last order had bought out all his stock of Glade tea, a tea made from the yellow flowers and the moth dust from the Ancestor Moth grove that soothed nerves overstrained by magical exertions. At the time Revyn had wondered about that, but other things had come up and he'd forgotten that detail until now.

"My wife knows the shout to take non-dragon souls," Revyn admitted reluctantly. "She learned it from the dragon of the Soul Cairn who gave it to her in exchange for occasionally being summoned to Tamriel. It may be Miraak has discovered this same shout or worked out a formula of his own that does equally as well. Or he may just be using the soul-stealing spell known to the Conjuration school. We can only hope Mora is not yet involved or invested in Miraak's success. He's made it clear that she can only get the final word of power from him, and to do that she will have pay his price. A price, I'm afraid, that must be extracted from our friends, the Skaal.

"But, I wouldn't put it past him to allow Miraak to gain so much power so that circumstances now force us to ask the Skaal to make the sacrifice. It very well feeds his ego as the 'Prince of Fate.' 'Prince of Soul-Sucking Leeches' rather." Revyn began feeling depressed. He sat down and picked up some of the papers and studied them. "Religions," he noted aloud. "Why are you studying religion?"

"Your Tribunal of Daedra obviously isn't doing much to counter Mora," said Urag, not looking up from the brittle scroll he was reading. "Doing what gods do — sit back and watch the pawns play out. Probably expecting her to charge in and save the day. As usual. But if Hermaeus Mora's taking an active part in this invasion and the fight is going to be in his realm of Apocrypha, then we can't rely on other Daedras to get involved. From what Savos tells me, you had luck getting interference from souls in the Aedra-controlled part of Oblivion. Pretty sure Mora's patched that hole in his defenses. So we're hoping to find clues, maybe another loophole, something or someone else to give the Archmage the edge to defeat both in their home territory." The Orc finally looked at Revyn. White hair, wrinkles, older than any Orc, by their own culture, had any right to be. And as a mage, he defied those rules. Defied many other rules that Orcs had neither the patience nor intelligence to be one of the preeminent scholars of magic.

Best way to get on the Loremaster's good side was to offer to fetch books for him. Revyn recalled the first time they'd met long ago. Revyn had been a traveling merchant back then and Urag, a Journeyman. Revyn had been camped for the night on a beach near Dawnstar when an Orc, in a combination of mage robes and Orc armor, casually holding an orichalcum greatsword and carrying a bulging sack almost as big as he was, came asking to share the fire. In the sack were books he'd "salvaged" from nearby ruins that was home to a few stupid practitioners of blood magicks. When his wife had decided to join the College, he made sure to advise her to do book fetching for Urag.

"We don't have enough information," Urag said, sweeping his hand over the table. "Too much lost between the First and Second Eras, the war with Mannimarco, and in the following ages, too many items borrowed and never returned. And dragon breaks — knowledge lost because they've been forgotten or haphazardly thrown out because no one could remember why they were relevant when histories were no longer valid."

"So we've gone back to the beginning," said Savos. He pointed at the owl sculpture. "Storn found that for me. An heirloom from the Skaal from times before they adopted the monotheistic religion of the All-Maker. A belief similar to the later Alessian Order of the First Era but nowhere as violently fanatical. The owl is an artifact, an idol from Atmora. The enemy of Herma-Mora as they call him. Jhunal the Owl.

Revyn rose from his seat and leaned over the table, reaching for the statue. Tusk ivory he guessed. There was a sense of something _old_ that tingled along his spine.

"Go on; I'm listening," he said. Savos nodded, plucked a bottle of ale for himself, then sat down and began his lecture.

"Legends like to credit Akatosh with creating a single line of dragonborns — the favored rise of the Dragonborn emperors and the pact with St. Alessia to be exact. In truth, that pact only guaranteed a steady, identifiable breed of Dragonborn. But there have been the spontaneous rise of Dragonborns before then. Miraak may not quite have been the first, but he is the first acknowledged by the dragons as a known predator of their kind."

"It's an odd fact of nature that sooner or later something will arise as a predator of a species that grows too powerful for its environment. The dragons are, or were, certainly the apex predators. Born from Akatosh. Unknowingly, if some radical texts are to be believed. He, like many of the other Divines, escaped Lorkhan's trickery during the creation of Mundus, but not entirely. Some of his blood or power was torn from him then. That power was part of Mundus's creation, and from the earth and from his divinity were the dragons born.

"Now the Greybeards version of events as told on the pilgrim stones leading up their mountain, they credit Kynareth with the teaching, or her influencing Paarthurnax to teach. According to a certain hunter in Riften Helsette told me about, he holds to the original Atmoran form of Kyne, the Divine huntress, the ancestral spirit whose avatar is the Hawk.

"In that ancestral form she taught Man how to speak, so naturally she knew the power of the Shout. She is also a goddess of battle. How she differs from Hircine is basically, he represents the joy or pleasure of the moment of the hunt and the killing, she represents the battle for life and ultimately, balance in nature.

"The Akaviri-led Dragonborns and Blades did very well in their efforts to kill all dragons. By intent or more likely sheer ignorance, nearly eradicating all elements of Akatosh's presence on Mundus. And that brings us to the St. Alessia contract. With most of the dragons gone and those remaining in hiding, for Akatosh to maintain his presence on Mundus he needed anchor artifacts. The Daedric ones are well known — Azura's Star, Mephala's Sword, Boehthia's Armor and Sword, Malacath's Hammer, Molag Bal's Mace, Hermaeus Mora's Books, Mehrunes Dagon's Razor, and so on. The Divines, on the other hand, largely rely on willing or living agents. Priests mostly.

"Akatosh made his bet on St. Alessia's bloodline from which arose the Reman Emperors. When the Septims took over, they kept the contract by keeping the Amulet of Kings. How many were actually Dragonborn is hard to say as there were no dragons to test them. The popular legend says the blood of Akatosh was in the Amulet. Less popular and more truthful, I think, was St. Alessia's own soul was in the Amulet. The promise had been made on her blood. Lose the Amulet, lose the soul, and lose Akatosh's oath of protection. The Amulet of Kings was destroyed with Martin Septim. Martin was a true Dragonborn because the soul he took in — to his own destruction — was Akatosh's own. The Empire fell apart. The Medes are giving a good try, but without the contract Akatosh had no investment in them. They are doomed to fail.

"But that is entirely another matter. Forgive me for getting off track.

"Back to the Dragonborn and the Atmoran gods.

"Of these gods, the most popular, of course, are Shor the Snake and his wife, Kyne the Hawk. His henchmen are Tsun the Whale and Stuhn the Bear. Lesser gods are Mara the Wolf, Dibella the Moth, Orkey the Fox, Jhunal the Owl, and, of course, Alduin the Dragon.

"At some point a dragon cult movement grew in Atmora. Doubtless due to the dragons migrating from their proposed origination in Akavir. Easy enough for their cult to flourish, I suppose, as the dragons were undeniably there in body and thus the "living" gods. Alduin became the focal point of worship, and men fed them their powers and their souls. Alduin found a way to feed on that.

"But that is my own speculation.

"In any case, there was war. Old Atmoran writing, fragments bolstered by word of mouth tales, spoke of ancient religious wars on Atmora. The Dragon cult making war upon the other tribes and gods. Ysgramor and like-minded fled to what would later become Saarthal. However, after Saarthal, he returned to Atmora and solicited the very forces he'd first fled to take vengeance on the Falmer. He brought the dragons and their priests to counter Falmer magic.

"The Atmoran pantheon eventually merged with the Altmer and ancient Alessian pantheons. Kyne to Kynareth, Stuhn to Stendarr, Mara and Dibella retain their names, Orkey became Malacath, and Jhunal to Julianos.

"Now I've gone a long way about this but I believe there is one ancient Atmoran ancestral spirit who can help us with Hermaeus Mora and Miraak. One suited to dealing with the Daedric realm of Apocrypha and the self-proclaimed Prince of Knowledge and Fate. I believe we need Jhunal's help.

"Not Julianos, the civilized patron of the arts of learning and magic, but Jhunal, the seeker of knowledge, the hunter of truths. Jhunal, whose ink is the blood and fat and ashes of his prey and whose first magicks were the crude drawings on cave walls to document a successful hunt and invoke the dreams of future successes. According to Atmoran legends, Jhunal taught Man how to write, how the written word was itself a power for both good and ill and could carry power when the last echoes of a Shout had faded. He also taught mathematics — not magic — as the tool to calculate power and set measures that we might better understand the timing of seasons and the movement of stars.

"Hermaeus Mora or Herma-Mora, as the Skaal call him, is a thief of knowledge; a hoarder who cares nothing of what he hordes, only that he has it. He boasts of being the Prince of Fate but he's a poor imitation of Jyggalag. His Apocrypha is the rotting remains of the Great Library of Jyggalag which was destroyed by Jyggalag himself the first time the curse of madness overtook him. Mora revels in the darkness of others' ignorance."

Savos fell silent. Revyn shook his head as if trying to make the words fall into sensible order.

"I would contest the Orkey to Malacath connection," said Urag. "The Atmoran Orkay is a god of mortality so more akin to Arkay, unless you accept the legends that Arkay originated as a mortal. I think your own Azura is mentioned in that context. And I find it damn curious that the Altmer accept that Arkay was a human elevated to godhood but refuse the same for Tiber Septim. However, that's beside the point. Savos thinks we should chase the Jhunal link. That's a god I like. That one's not afraid to get his hands dirty and get out there and hunt facts down. All very nice, but question is, is Jhunal an actual Aedra and, if so, is it still a valid power to call upon? What's this origin god's price for aid? I don't know of any practitioners of the old Nord gods nor of any writings."

"Or," interjected Tolfdir quietly, "if there's time to properly chase down believers of the old gods. Many were killed or driven into hiding by High King Borgas who aligned himself with the Alessian Order that sought to obliterate all pantheons in favor of a single, all-mighty god of their definition. The Bosmer certainly proved him wrong when they called the Wild Hunt down upon him. And there have been no formal temples or writings to the old gods. It's all word of mouth. We've sent Onmund to this Rift hunter to see if he knows anything about Jhunal, but there's been a delay. The hunter has made it a condition that Onmund earn Kyne's favor with hunting trials and so Onmund is currently running down animal protector spirits to prove he's a worthy Nord by using bow or spear or knife instead of magic."

"Oh, this is terrible." Revyn got up and paced around the table. "I'm fairly certain my wife can take on Miraak, but not if Mora's involved. Is our only hope an obscure Atmoran god who hasn't been worshipped since before the First Era? Have you found anything at all about his nature?" He sighed unhappily as Savos shook his head.

"We were hoping you could help us since you're the nearest we have to a mystic," said Urag bluntly. "We've Edd Theman, he's recently joined our College as a possible future mysticism instructor, but by his own admission he knows the practical arts of the discipline but the core mysticism skills he admits to being weak on. He's learned what he knows through brute force rather than intuition. We're also not certain enough about him to entrust him with the secret that the Archmage is your wife, who is pretending to be her own half-sister and does a lot of the Dragonborn work as the spellsword Helsette Faro. Savos says you have the blood gift of talking to ancestral spirits. You aren't trained, we know; you deny the skill often enough. Denying it doesn't make it untrue. We've tried consulting the Augur, but he's never there when we've gone to him. Might as well see if you can reach him."

"I'll talk to Edd," said Revyn. "I didn't know until two days ago that he's kin even if he wasn't officially married to my cousin. And as he was once the Mouth of the Nerevarine, he knows about double lives. I know kinship doesn't automatically mean trustworthiness, but I have a good feeling about him. And we will need his skills." He sighed again. "I hadn't planned on letting him in on family secrets so soon, but it can't be helped."

So a few hours later Revyn found himself deep beneath the College with Tolfdir and Edd Theman, and entering a room with an empty magicka well. He set the ivory owl on the well's edge. "How do we summon the Augur?" he asked Tolfdir. Tolfdir shrugged.

"He appears when he wants to. Most common is to come here and see if he's 'in.'"

Theman also shrugged and said, "The Augur mostly talks to Colette. I've only been down here once before and he wasn't interested in talking to me."

Revyn didn't know much about this entity. He wife, of course, had told him about her encounter with the Augur, a College student whose research had crossed into dangerous territory. His physical form was gone and what was left was melded with the power vortex the College had deliberately been built over.

He sat on the rim of the well, his legs extending into the bowl. He started as he always did, concentrating on breathing to focus his mind. He reached for his ancestors first, seeking their protection and guidance and relaxed as he felt the cloak of familiarity settle over his shoulders. Then he tentatively asked them to look around for the Augur. He didn't open his eyes although he knew the room had brightened on the other side of his eyelids.

Something "knocked."

Tolfdir later told him it was quite fascinating. He'd never before witnessed a possession. The Augur had appeared but only to warn Tolfdir and Theman not to interfere. Then something else, presumably Jhunal or a spirit that spoke for Jhunal, had moved Revyn to take hold of the owl statue. Once he did that he began speaking in what Tolfdir identified as Atmoran. He translated what he could — difficult because the old form was practically 'dead' and the accent one Tolfdir hadn't heard since he was a boy when his grandfather imitated the accent of his own grandfather — and Theman transcribed. Basically, Jhunal was real; Julianos was a separate entity whose original name was lost with the Alessians but they were on good terms; and Jhunal was willing to help against his old enemy if the price was right.

Such price to be named later.

If Tolfdir had translated correctly. Theman had plenty of pages where he'd recorded words phonetically because Tolfdir wasn't able to catch everything.

"You really don't remembering anything that came out of your mouth?" asked Edd.

"I really, truly don't, which is why I dislike this practice. Some spirit uses me, says its piece, and I'm left holding a rock and with a blade at my throat."

Theman's eyes narrowed. "An oddly specific result. Why do I feel there's a gate involved?" When Revyn didn't answer Theman's sighed. "Do you do this often?" he asked instead. "And by 'this' I mean interfere in Daedric affairs and channel spirits?"

"No. This is actually the second time I've allowed this. The first time is how I got the annoying reputation and the spirit guardians of my house. Which I suppose you should know about should you visit me in Windhelm. They're nice ghosts," he added belatedly. "Haven't had robberies since. And they would never harm my little cousin."

"Hmph. They won't get the chance to get near my granddaughter until I'm well satisfied of your talents, Revyn. I'd like to examine you once we get upstairs. I'm looking for hooks or traces left on you. Anything by which an outside influence would pull you or bind you by."

"My Ancestors wouldn't allow that, but all right."

"I know your mother's mother was a wise women and father's mother was daughter of another one. Have you been trained? Ever sought training?"

"No."

"And no interest I take it."

"None. I simply honor my ancestors and I desire that any family I have be healthy and happy. I have, unfortunately, been forcefully made aware that I have inherited certain traits. My wife demanded I take some training from her brother and we focused primarily on basic conjuration and shielding. I've taken other lessons from him whenever we both have time to spare."

"Hm, I don't see you as wanting to meddle with Oblivion, so not a conjurer of dremora or elementals or bound weapons, and you're obviously more the spiritualist than a mystic. What Conjuration spells do you know?"

"My wife made me learn how to conjure fire wolves. Taliesin, my brother-in-law, taught me _summon ancestors_."

"That's an adept-level spell both in complexity and power even if the spirits on the other side are willing to come through. Do you use that often?"

"Only when I have vampires clawing at my neck."

" _Vith_. Considering who your wife is, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd find yourself in the thick of trouble whether you seek it or not." Theman's eyes narrowed again. "And the fact that you've survived makes me wonder to what lengths you'll go."

They exited the Midden into the Hall of Countenance. Tolfdir went to check his class schedules, Theman went to find his granddaughter, and Revyn decided to head back to town to dine with new friends met during Hogithum before they left Winterhold.


	42. Brother Owl, pt2

_A/N: Song inspiration_ "The Sun is Also a Warrior" _by Leslie Fish (old filksong can be found on youtube)._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

BROTHER OWL, Part 2

"This is not a good time for you to leave Windhelm. No. I require you to attend the quarterly court sessions. You've missed the last two. You will attend," said Ulfric in flat tones of finality.

"As you will, my jarl. I'm sure a few days delay will . . ."

"And then there is another matter I want you to handle after court. I need information that I believe one of your talents can provide."

"Ah." Revy internally flinched as he recalled the events of his last "mission" for Ulfric.

"You may toss that mask in the nearest privy, steward. It is financial information I want. I am not asking you to front a spy mission again. The first and last time cost us a fort and involved us in a vampire war. I merely want your assessment of matters in the Reach and of the Silver-Bloods."

"I know very little about the Reach, my Jarl." And the Silver-Bloods were ruthless fetchers who literally killed their competition or enslaved them. If he had to go there, he knew an ex-Dres lord he would bring along as consultant.

"I have trouble believing that, Sadri. Your wife is a thane there. You have a stake there. You therefore have some ongoing game engaged. I would think you'd be pleased to have my permission to be able to travel there under my protection."

"I would agree, my jarl, but now really isn't a good time. I really do need to go to Solstheim once court is over. There are some matters I've been watching that may disrupt trade and shipments between Solstheim and Windhelm that I need to get involved in."

Ulfric slouched further down on his throne and leaned right to prop his cheek up on a fist. "There have been strange rumors on the docks about Solstheim, that there is a strange magic that steals the mind of sleepers and enslaves them to work on building shrines. Is this the matter that concerns you?" he asked almost lazily.

Revyn hesitated. It was getting difficult to deceive to the Jarl. Jyggalag's sword, a gift Revyn had given him the day Ulfric made him a steward, was working its subtle gift of enabling its wielder to cut to the heart of matters. While it helped Ulfric to resolve some of his past personal issues, it also made equivocating to him difficult.

"It is, my Jarl. It threatens many friends of mine and my wife has already gone ahead to see what she can do."

"From what I hear it is a matter for warriors and wizards not merchants."

"That may be so, but I have financial interests in both the Redoran and Telvanni settlements that tie closely to business here in Windhelm and in Morthal."

Ulfric regarded him silently and with a look of cold calculation in his steel blue eyes. "You're worried about that she-devil you're married to. Very well, after court you may go to her. When you return, there will be no complaints about traveling to Markarth or who will be escorting you. You may go now and meet with Jorlief to bring me proposals of how we can fund our forces through next season's campaigns."

+—+—+—+—+

In retrospect, it was just as well the Jarl had made Revyn delay his trip. Running a hidden principality did not allow one to impulsively run around from crisis to crisis. One must keep goals in mind and consider each step. Dashing about was his wife's expertise.

His store staff had learned by now that when he needed to think about important problems he came to the shop to relax by finding jobs to do. Revyn was inspecting and sorting weapons that had been sold to the shop by some soldiers when a clerk informed him two mages had come in with a scales ring for special discounts. He or Savela or the store manager, Ynalta, handled ringed customers. The dragon rings were handed out by the Dragonborn and his store and other merchants in other cities gave discounts on goods and/or services for it. The gift rings that came from his wife the spellsword depicted balance scales, the symbol of House Hlaalu, and was only good at her husband's store. Those rings he handled himself.

He was pleased to recognize the two mages, Onmund and J'zargo. "Ah, welcome, friends! Congratulations are in order I hope?" Revyn said to Onmund, gesturing to the bone and carved ivory necklace the mage was wearing. "You are now one of Kyne's favored hunters? Did you get the information my wife needs?"

"On Jhunal, some," said Onmund. "Unfortunately, Froki is more devout to the hunt and battle than to a god of knowledge."

"Oh, that's disappointing. Warrior and scholar at not mutually exclusive aspects. Not one to favor book learning then. It must have disappointed him that an effete mage passed his tests."

"He wasn't happy. I cheated shamelessly by his standards," said Onmund. "J'zargo had to do the tracking for me while I did the actual battle and killing. If I had to do the tracking, I'd still be chasing the first three challenges, and time wasn't on our side." Onmund shrugged and pulled out some papers from his satchel. "There isn't much, I'm sorry, just speculative rambling of ceremonies and vague stories of the owl as a messenger of hidden powers. When I think of how little we got for all the effort we put into passing his tests, I can't feel sorry for cheating." He passed the papers over to Revyn. "Urag's already made copies so this is yours. We hope it helps in some way. Again, we're sorry there isn't more. Helsette's a smart and tough lady; she shouldn't have to face off with a dragon priest all by herself in Apocrypha. I'm pretty appalled the Archmage isn't handling this. Helsette is her half-sister after all."

"It's, um, a delicate political situation," said Revyn carefully. "The College of Winterhold has no authority to act in Dunmer territory. Moreover, House Telvanni has a presence there and they would take offence at the presence of a foreign institution. Savos Aren may be of House Telvanni, but as he was acting under the authority of the College he and the College students stayed primarily in Raven Rock and in Redoran territory. Now, my wife is a member of the Telvanni — Mage Lord Neloth inducted her himself — so she is free to act and even consult with Neloth should she feel the need. Also, since she was the first to find and explore the Black Books, it seems only she is receiving the challenges. Others have tried reading books she's found but they haven't caught the Prince's attention like she has. Unfortunate. I would rather she not be involving herself in Daedric matters, but there it is."

"Most unfortunate," said J'zargo. "Archmage Antonia should be dealing with this undead dragon priest as she has all the others. This is not right. This one worries for friend Helsette's safety."

Revyn felt it was time to distract them. "Thank you! I am so grateful that my wife has friends like you two. Now, I believe Master Urag gave you the ring she left for you for completing these trials. You get a 50% discount on anything in the store. If there's an item you can't immediately afford, I would be happy to work out a reasonable payment schedule."

The information the boys had won wasn't much more than what the masters at the College had already uncovered. Most knowledge of the Atmoran old gods had been lost during the wars where the dragon cult had violently attempted to eradicate the worship of all other gods and to subjugate all clans to their rule. Jhunal was considered a patron of explorers and knowledge seekers. And because his spirit beasts, the owls, were night hunters, they were considered flyers between this world and the realms of dreams and of death. One would almost think them harbingers of Vaermina and/or Sithis depending on which legend one chose to follow. An odd role for an Aedra or Divine. A spirit that brought wisdom out of the darkness.

Of course, not all wisdom brings joy.

He finished out his task at the store and went home to his office so that he could compare the new notes to the transcript copy of the spirit session. When he was last at the College he'd gone with Tolfdir and Edd to consult the Augur of Dunlain and had ended up channeling an ancient Atmoran spirit. Tolfdir had talked to the entity and Edd had scribed. And Revyn had days afterwards of uncomfortable dreams that glimpsed into a life or lives lived in Atmora. He'd jotted down some of them and sent them off to Tolfdir along with a package of tea. Much to his misery, they'd found interesting hints of further knowledge in his dreams.

Urag, that miserable, bloody scholar, took great delight in reminding him that this was the third time he'd pulled valuable information out of "dead" leads. For "our own little hooty bird of the night," he'd addressed at the top of pages of questions. Wayshrines and Ebonheart guardians, vampires, and now this. He really should start charging the College consultation fees except that would only encourage Urag to demand more.

Of course, striving to recall his dreams and putting them into writing and trying not to make his own interpretations (that was for Urag and whomever else working on this), and then falling asleep from mental exhaustion only encouraged more dreams.

 _They had come in the darkest night of winter when sensible people were gathered in the longhouse, sleeping and conserving their energies. Families huddled together in their claimed sections. The only ones awake were the handful of volunteers who tended the fires and patrolled outside to make sure the livestock in nearby barns were safe from predators._

 _And little Dani the inexhaustible was still up stringing colored blocks onto a cord, unstringing, then restringing in different color groups. His parents had collapsed from exhaustion just after supper._

 _He lovingly stroked his sleeping niece's head. She was never amused by his observations that her son's energy was payback for the years she had kept his brother and him awake with running after her._

 _They hadn't expected a dragon strike. They'd been promised until spring to decide. He had been among those counseling the clan lord to deny the dragon followers. They'd been given until spring to answer. He had returned to his small tribe, had sent his brother and their best scouts out to find a safe hideaway for the children and young parents. They would be moved out in the next two weeks, well before spring and whatever treachery the dragon madmen planned for them._

 _Two dragons. One shouted fire. The other shouted a foulness that sapped one's strength and magic. His people fled the longhouse and into the arrows and spears of the dragon worshippers. He fought alongside the warriors trying to clear a path to escape. A precious few got away. Not enough. They would be hunted down. He saw the leader of this group, the young, ambitious priest that had glowered from the shadows of the dragons' envoys. What was his name? Oh, yes. Miraak._

 _Miraak held up the head of his brother. "No flying from the dragons, owl man! You and yours will be the example to your clan of what happens to slaves who flee their masters."_

"Dani." Revyn woke, tears still streaming from his eyes. All that energy, all that joy crushed between dragon teeth. Tossed like candy into a greedy, never-sated maw. The sacrificial knives only finished the job of cutting his heart out. "Miraak, you _fetcher!_ Rot in Apocrypha." Before the dream totally dissipated he wrote down the dying prayers of an owl shaman.

Later that day he went outside of the city armed with a bow and arrows and shot a rabbit. The Nord accompanying him to watch his back while he hunted then guided him to a great owl's nest. Before laying the rabbit below the nest, Revyn stuffed into the offering a small roll of edible saltrice paper on which he had carefully written the owl prayers in ink made of crushed beetle shells. The paper partially dissolved in the blood and stuck to the meat. Then he and Mikel stepped a good distance away and watched as the great owl came down from her nest to accept the offering. Three fluffy, grey chicks popped up and peered down to watch.

"Is this some sort of religious ceremony to one of your Daedra gods?"

"Actually, Mikel, this is for one of your ancestral Atmoran gods called Jhunal. Nowadays he's called Julianos, the Divine of Learning, Logic, and Magic. His symbol is the square pyramid or the triangle."

"Huh. All right. So how do owls fit in?"

"For Julianos, they don't. Julianos, in his present form, is from the combined Alessian and Altmer lines. Jhunal is one of the Old Gods of Atmora; a warrior's god of knowledge. He doesn't preside in some hallowed hall of learning. He's the one who picks up his spear, put on his boots, hat, and cloak and slogs out into the wilderness to get answers. He teaches critical thinking and writing so that his discoveries can be passed onto others even after he's left the world. He also favors math over magic. Timing the seasons, measuring one's treasures or resources for building, like that. Practical means over magical. I suppose he's a combination of Julianos and Zenithar. His avatar beast is the owl like Divine Kyne's is the hawk. The eyes that hunt in the dark, if by dark you understand it to mean ignorance and fear of the unknown."

"Uh-huh. And why are you making a gift to an old god we Nords don't believe in anymore?"

"Because there are these insane cultists hunting my wife and they worship Hermaeus Mora, the one Atmorans once called Herma-Mora, the demon of ignorance. He and Jhunal are enemies."

"And your gods won't help?"

"Herma-Mora's sister is Mephala. Sex, lies, and dirty secrets."

"Oh. Understood. But won't she be mad at you?"

"Our other gods are Boethiah. Conflict, treachery, and plots. And Azura, the gray areas of life, adversity, and self-interest."

Mikel started laughing. "Wow. You're insane; you know that?"

"Please don't spread that about. I have enough to deal with."


	43. Brother Owl, Pt3

_GalacticHalfling: The Devils you know, and who know you. (You can see them grinning, right? I know mine regularly brush and their teeth are sparkling white.)_

 _AuroraNova: My can/n/on is a rubber band machine gun. Ord/i/nance fire just bounces all over the place. Jhunal may be the god of knowledge and hermetic orders, but as his spirit animal, Brother Owl, well, the Atmorans/Nords are mistaken thinking he's a weak predator. See Youtube video "owl takes hawk."_

 _A/N: Lore: UESP — Jhunal, "The Nordic god of hermetic orders." Hermetic, not necessarily monastic ~ lone ~ isolated . . . independent + seeker of knowledge . . . I love the "Brother Cadfael" ("battle prince") books by Ellis Peters. But right now I'm more in mind of Professor Indiana Jones out there and kicking the butts of the forces of darkness._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

BROTHER OWL, Part 3

 _Come to me, Julianos, for without you, my wit is weak to sort the wheat from the chaff, and my eyes should neither know the true from the false, nor sense from folly, nor justice from prejudice and interest._  
 _— prayer to Julianos_

 _Brother Owl, eyes of the night, silent flier, lend me your vision that I might find my way to secret knowledge. Teach me to listen that I might hear wisdom when it moves in the world. Unite my heart and my mind and let me feel your wings opening in my life._

— _unknown_

Severin Manor had a full house. The students studying under Savos had been sent back to Winterhold. Moving in for the duration, from Winterhold there was Savos and Edd Theman. The Selvaai ladies had come earlier. Lady Karis was staying with her brother, Selvaai Theryn, House Father, at the Selvaai camp at the west edges of town. The Selvaai had come when Morvayn had put out a contract to help keep order because the reopened ebony mine had brought a population explosion. Melynis was at Severin with Ralis. Little Nicky had taken leave from the Companions to be here also and he'd brought along his best friend, Athis, the first Dunmer Companion. No, Athis didn't know that Helsette was the Dragonborn, but Little Nicky assured them that if he did figure that out, he's smart enough to keep that to himself.

Azura's Priestess Aranea had also showed up at Sadri's door in Windhelm. Azura may no longer speak directly to her, but she still sends plenty of wordless visions. Aranea felt she was needed for a while in Solstheim. She stayed at Severin because she didn't feel particularly comfortable or welcome at the Temple. Elder Othreloth was reserved but polite. His subordinate, Galdrus was not as welcoming. Nevertheless, she had her duty and it was to teach Othreloth the magic Azura felt he needed to learn as her representative on Solstheim. Her other reason for staying at Severin was because she was able to prevent Miraak's influence from touching anyone in the house. She was also able to add the Goddess's blessing to other dwellings to ward against Miraak's influence, and among the first to receiving the Blessing was the Retching Netch, the town barracks, and Morvayn Manor.

Revyn was not needed for the research so he made social calls. Little Nicky and Athis tagged after him because Helsette wasn't taking any chance that the cultists might strike at her by attacking Revyn.

First call-on was at the Selvaaai camp. The Selvaai house father was pleased to accept two bottles of the Felix Honningbrew special honey mead that wasalchemy-infused with snowberries and dandelions to give elemental protections along with its sweet buzz. The house father was interested in discussing Ralis's current status serving the Helsette, debt status, and how Revyn determined the treasure percentage that paid Ralis's fines. Lady Karis's reports of Helsette's exploits made for excellent training tales for young warriors. And meeting Helsette had certainly given consideration that even Hlaalu could come up with respectable warriors. Ralis assisting her paved the way to his welcome in the family when his term of indenture was over.

Then to Tel Mithryn. A lot of trade between here and Tel Windstad and beyond to other Telvanni Towers. The House was very curious about the house member who dared build a tower in a foreign land. There were uncomfortable rumors that the House wanted more information. A warning from Neloth passed to them through his apprentice, Talvas, was to expect agents from the Council to come visiting at some time in the future.

Neloth at the moment wasn't in. He was off at the Dwemer ruined city of Nchardak with Helsette, Savos, and Edd to try to get to the Black Book there that was locked in a spell-proof cage. That should be child's play for three masters and a Dragonborn. Ralis was not needed for that jaunt and so was with his intended and her cousins, showing them Kolbjorn Barrow.

Now onto Skaal village. Little Nicky and Athis bonded with the three Armigers there, Armigers Pellin, Lillioni, and Ireven. Athis was clearly taken with Lillioni who was fascinated with the history of the Companions. Her father, Ireven, was an old Armiger who'd weathered the devastation of his gods being reduced to questionable saints in the new temple.

Revyn consulted with Storn and Imperial scholar Tharsten about Jhunal of Atmora. The Imperial Library didn't have much to say except that Jhunal was never a popular god and gladly forgotten when the Atmorans came to Tamriel. Even back then anything relatable elves and/or magic suffered from association. Atmoran mages such as Gaulder and Ahzidal were more respected by the elves while those who knew the thu'um were revered. When the Alessian emperors sought to blend in the Nord culture and looked for similar gods, Jhunal was subsumed to the Alessian god Julianos. The mathematically elegant pyramid was favored over a fluffy, night-flying, screechy avian whom many didn't know how to relate to logic and facts.

Storn conceded the owl was perhaps regarded with some fear by the ancestors because the eerie silence of its wings as it snatched sleeping or night-blind prey, as any creature would fear sudden death in the night. Straw death, night death, sleeping death — all the manners of death the Nords feared and abhorred that would make them unworthy of Sovngarde. The large, glowing eyes that stared out from the darkness, watching, judging, was not a thing to inspire confidence or trust or admiration.

"Who did you get the owl from?" asked Revyn. "I would like to meet them and perhaps spend some time with them if they permit.

"Go to the smithy and talk to Baldor Iron-Shaper, it came from his mother's family. Two generations past her sire was the shaman who trained me when his own children had not the patience or desire to be shaman."

Revyn took Little Nicky's wolf armor to Baldor with some suggestion for stahlrim reinforcement and accents to add. Baldor admired the quality of Skyforge steel and Gray-Mane's style. As Baldor worked, Revyn sat quietly on a bench and took in the feelings about the forge and the smith; listened as he joked with his assistant Morwen. Iron-shaper, earth shaper, a long line founded in stone and strong in earth magic. He had ancestors that had carved the earthstones for their dragon overlords. Someone of his mother's bloodline carved the owl totem from the tusks of a mammoth in Atmora.

That was the fanciful daydream that flitted through Revyn's mind. Baldor didn't have much to say to that. All he knew was that his father worked the forge and so did his grandfather. There were old family tales of his father's family he recalled of serving the dragon cult, working ebony and stahlrim for the dragons, shaping rock for the temples, but not much beyond that. His mother's family raised crops. Of Herma-Mora there was not much to say except that when Miraak built his temple, it was death to be conscripted to work the stones of lower levels of the temple. Laborers were slaughtered so that its secrets would remain unknown. Brother Owl's image was handed down in his mother's family. He was considered their guardian bird (and owls in the barn kept vermin from eating the wheat and corn). The family legend was that if you had a problem, write it out and tuck it in the branches of Brother Owl's tree, then watch your dreams. If you were lucky, you'd hear the hoot of the Owl and the solution would reveal itself. The more you tried to solve it yourself before bothering Owl, the more likely you would get an answer. Owl valued industry and initiative.

And he would very much like his family guardian back when they were done, thank you very much. He missed talking to Owl about his forge projects.

Little Nicky loved his improved armor and Athis was likewise enamored of his stahlrim and silver sword.

And by this time Athis knew Helsette was also the Dragonborn. He thought it hilarious the fabled Nord hero was actually half Dunmer and half Imperial just as the Nerevarine had been half Nord and half Imperial.

Helsette now had the second word of the _Bend Will_ shout after running through Nchardak with Neloth, reading the book locked therein, and Mora swore to her that she would need all three words to reach Miraak.

As they had long suspected, Mora wanted something from the Skaal. Revyn knew it would be a bloody sacrifice. "Tell me your secrets. You can trust me. Come on; who will it hurt? You aren't betraying anyone because I promise no one will know it from me." Mephala and Mora shared that whispering trait.

Edd surprised Revyn by writing out a question to the Owl and tying it on a carved tree branch. "Can't hurt and we can only benefit. I have several ideas but we don't have time to test each of them out. We'll only have one chance."

Helsette had returned to Severin Manor to sleep after her run through of Nchardak and battling the dragon that awaited her once they had emerged from the ruins. Miraak had ordered the dragon to kill her and then had stolen its soul when she'd killed it. She told them Mora had demanded "the secrets of the Skaal," and Storn had told her the secrets were nothing more than details of Skaal customs, their prayers and stories, beliefs, and philosophies — things the Imperial Scholar Tharsten had been documenting the years he'd lived among them. It was going to be a book and Mora wanted a copy even before it was published? The book didn't matter. Both she and Storn knew Mora wanted all those things no book could really contain.

As she slept, Revyn, Savos, and Edd sat together upstairs by the hearth to drink sujamma and rehash plans, looking for any changes and flaws in light of the Daedric Prince's demand. No changes really. Edd would work to set up a one-way gate into Mora's realm using Miraak's own link. Savos would help guide the gate to its destination through the knowledge he'd gleaned when exploring those places that Helsette had already reaped of inhabitants and sellable baubles.

Helsette would re-run a third time the book from Miraak's Temple. The first time she'd appeared in a large, open area and surprised Miraak as he was plotting, surrounded by Seekers and dragons. He'd shot lighting at her that stunned her, looked her over, proclaimed her a young, untested Dragonborn not worthy of his time, and booted her out to await conquest with the rest of the unsuspecting world. The encounter had frightened her and, after some more combat training with Captain Veleth and magic training from Neloth, she'd returned to Skyrim to lean more about "dragonborns" and the best arrogantly Nord city to start asking questions seemed to be Windhelm where she'd eventually walked up to Revyn's counter.

This second reading, she'd appeared in a different area, there was the usual maze to run, the same dangers to kill, and treasures to collect. She'd ended up in that open area with the word wall prize at the end where she picked up the third word for her _dragon aspect_ shout, and had exited the place by rereading the book that had gotten her there.

She knew she'd come back to this place a third time. It was, after all, a place large enough for a half dozen dragons and she knew she'd need the _Bend Will_ shout to capture one of Miraak's dragon servants to fly her to the battleground Miraak had chosen. The whole point of Mora making her learn the shout.

And while she engaged Miraak in combat they would open a gate so as not to alert Mora by using his trap books. Where it would open up didn't matter. If Jhunal came through, presumably the Divine would be able to fly to where he was needed. She would handle Miraak and Jhunal would keep Mora from cheating. And if, by chance, Miraak was winning, Revyn hoped he and his ancestors would be able to tip the odds in her favor.

That was the weakest part of their plan. Revyn still didn't know what Jhunal would demand in return for his aid. At best, he would take Revyn with him and Revyn would again summon his Ancestors to aid and Revyn would travel back with his wife. At worst, it would be a one-way trip for him and he'd leave instead either with his ancestors or with the Owl.

"How are you sure the god will do this for you?" asked Edd after Savos had excused himself to do some meditating before retiring.

"It's what I offered and thus far I haven't heard any refusal. Do you think it won't work?"

Edd leaned back in his chair and contemplated his glass. "After Vivec disappeared Baar Dau dropped lower. In deperation, a bargain was made with Clavicus Vile. That was the time of the Ingenium and countless souls were sacrificed to Vile. First used were prisoners and other criminals. But like all his bargains, that was only the beginning price. To continue to keep the lie of stability aloft, he demanded more souls, greater souls. If you had remained in Vivec, you would have been a prize grand soul for sacrifice. You have a very strong soul, Revyn. Among the strongest I've seen for one neither a mage nor a priest. Perhaps it's what attracted a Dragon to you. Dragons like power. We know that the Daedra prize souls as sources of power. Question is do the Divines have the same, hm, appreciation for souls? I believe there was this Winterhold scholar, Harold Greentree, who said that most Daedra treat souls like a petty cash box and the Aedra generally look at souls as a long-term investment.

"His treatise on the _Spirituality of Necromancy_ is a fascinating read. A pity about his disappearance and presumed death. Urag tells me you were a primary source that Greentree consulted as part of his research though your name is nowhere mentioned in the book. Do you by chance know what happened to Greentree?

"Dead," said Revyn flatly. "I refused to speak to him unless he swore he'd leave my name out of it."

"How did he die?"

"He violated an ancestor-guarded shrine. He didn't take the theories of Ancestors as intelligent haunts seriously enough and thought regular banishment spells would suffice. Willing bindings, you understand. And although he was correct in that there were Nord guardians, he was incorrect that they would accept non-blood relatives just because they were Nord.'"

"An incredibly stupid assumption," Edd said, agreeing. "But how do you know this?"

"Because after he died, his partner kidnapped me and dragged me to an Ebonheart Alliance wayshrine. I just barely managed to placate the guardians set there by Almalexia's own priests, but only because they knew my wife's ancestors and were willing to let me talk. I should tell you that the Nord guardians attached themselves to me and are the ones haunting my home in Windhelm. I've already told them about Tirenea and you. They won't bother you if you come to visit."

"So you confirm the rumor that your shop is haunted."

"My home, yes, which was my original shop and now is the local government office for the Gray Quarter. They leave my new store alone. The only ghost guarding that shop is reputation and hired security."

Edd grinned without humor. "Charming. Nord spirit guardians. If we survive this, I will want to visit your home and meet your guardians."

Edd went off to review again the runes he planned to use to at an earthstone to create a gate. The little scroll with the owl statue seemed to have worked. He'd had a dream of finding a dead mouse on a particular stack of diagroms of the five stacks being considered. Revyn also went downstairs, intending to sleep. But as he passed by the vault room, he noted the door was open. A quick glance in showed Savos sitting before the shrine Revyn had set up in there. He felt the need to step in.

Savos heard him, acknowledging him with only a slight turn of his head. "Miraak's getting nervous if he sent a dragon to ambush us outside of Nchardak."

"Did you like the enchanted crossbow we sent you?"

"Beautiful weapon. The lightning charge is as strong as any staff I've seen outside of the Gaulder staff." He sighed heavily. "But you aren't here to talk about crossbows."

"Well, I was curious. It's a new design by the Dawnguard. The lovely, brilliant Miss Sorine is such a very good customer and a delight to talk to if one is curious about weaponry innovations. The handheld, scaled down versions are elegant and frighteningly deadly." Revyn walked closer and took a spot just behind Savos.

"You seem a little depressed. Nerves about what's coming up?" he asked Savos.

"How can one not be? And how are you so calm? Helsette is going into Apocrypha to face the First Dragonborn. Gods only know what tricks he's picked up for having lived there for several thousand years. He has home ground advantage and he's a practiced, ruthless killer. Do you think she's ready for this?"

"For an exdragonpriest? Yes. This is just one more mask to add to her collection. In a one-to-one battle I believe she is more than ready. Miraak is a prisoner who's trying to escape his prison and has lived as Hermaeus Mora's pet Dragonborn forever drowning in black slime. Hermaeus Mora himself told my wife that Miraak is getting restless and is no longer as tractable as he used to be. That's why he's helping her to gain power. He thinks she has the potential to defeat Miraak. He thinks she'll be properly grateful and will serve as his champion because his gifts to her are greater than what Azura has given her."

"The Star is a valuable token, but it is in essence a soul gem and nothing more than that. What else has Azura given her?"

"A great deal as it turned out," Revyn said. "Did you know her godsfather is the Nerevarine? Her hand has been pulling the threads of her family line even before she was born."

"But so much depends on the interference of an unknown Atmoran god. How can you be sure he will aid us?"

"I am not. I also have my doubts. I confess I am terrified I may be playing the fool to spirits pretending to be my ancestors who have been talking to the unknown god. I am not, as you know, trained in magic, much less in mysticism. I can only have faith that I speak to my ancestors. I can only trust in my gut feelings. I confess the feelings of peace dissipate quickly when my mind gets involved and I let myself think of what could go wrong. My wife is going in to battle against another Dragonborn. Every day she's not with me I can only pray that she's alive, safe, comes back to me.

"We all know what we're doing is blood magic. Mora will force her hand and blood, likely Storn's blood, will be shed, and he will try to claim her as his prize by saying she is doing his bidding. To bring Jhunal through here to there, that will also require sacrifice. I will offer him mine if that is required."

"Braver than what I was willing to give long ago," said Savos. "You could have my soul to sacrifice if it had any worth."

"Savos, we've talked many times about this."

"Yes, I know. If I hadn't betrayed my friends and damned their souls, the Dragonpriest Morokei would have escaped and gods only knows what he would have done free of his prison and with the Staff of Magnus in hand. And even if he wasn't a Dragonborn, well, he was a Dragonpriest and a Tongue. I am sure the many he would have killed would have brought Alduin back as surely as this civil war has done. Understanding the outcome by logic does not soothe the shame or the pain, Revyn."

"I never said that. That was never the point, Savos. Pain is what it is. Events are whatever is at hand and you happened to be there. How Morokei got the Staff of Magnus, which was supposed to have been in Museum of Artifacts in Mournhold since it left the hand of the Nerevarine, is a mystery. One may craft the finest shield — be it hide, ebony or even a clay flowerpot — but in the end, in battle, the shield is meant to be sacrificed, to be held up against violence and to take damage. You fulfilled that purpose. Your friends died, yes, but from what you tell me they knew it was inevitable. The manner of death was horrible. That cannot be denied. Surviving and the guilt afterwards . . ." Revyn shrugged. He ran a used goods shop. Old memories, old items bought and sold.

"And after the battle, Revyn?" Savos said after a long moment of silence. "You can't sacrifice yourself. There are a lot of people out there who depend on you. She above all. The elaborate ruse, the double life she leads is all to protect you in this entire game. After Miraak tried to take you, she tore through the isle to find and shut down all the stones. She delved into all the ruins to find the Black Books. Your abduction frightened her badly and she does not respond well to threats. Manic and merciless."

"Yes, she has quite a temper. But we know what happens if she dies, or worse, becomes His puppet."

"Yes, the world dies as we know it either way. I truly hope the god will come when you call."

+—+—+—+—+—+

 _Dragon Aspect_ was a temporary magical overlay of spiked dragon plate armor that toughened her armor; enhance her physical and magical skills and shouts.

Revyn thought it ridiculous and had collapsed in laughter. It was the groin horns. She'd nearly put holes in his ears with an irritated hip twitch while he'd hung off them, giggling and too weak to remain standing. It had taken an earnest apology and wheedling and gentle kisses before she'd forgiven him. Savos and Edd had already left for the Skaal Village. She pushed him back to bed; they were going to be a bit late getting to the village tomorrow.

+—+—+—+—+—+

Hermaeus Mora's tentacles had stabbed deep and left Storn a bloody corpse on the ground. Helsette was a transparent, tentacles-wrapped statue staring into a damned book.

"Come now!" Savos said, grabbing Revyn's arm. "Come on, come on!"

Revyn ran, not really seeing where he was being led. Savos pulled him up and away from the village, his magic casting light for their path. They came to the Wind Stone. It was glowing bright with the power Edd had been channeling into it since dawn. The flat rim of the pool around the stone had Daedric markings drawn in charcoal. Little Nicky, Athis, and the three Armigers stood guard around. Bodies of dead cultists had been dragged and piled off to one side.

"She's gone to Apocrypha," Savos announced. He shook Revyn roughly. "Snap out of it! We have to bring Jhunal through. You need to concentrate. Invoke the Ancestors." He turned to Edd. "Ready?"

"Ready. I've got the power in hand. You guide." Savos pushed Revyn to where he needed to be and then he took his place at a point so that the three of them triangulated around the earthstone. Edd drew and focused power and Savos defined and directed. The pool at the base of the Wind stone swirled and turned black.

Revyn's prayed. "It has begun. She battles Miraak. She will win against him if need be. But this battle is for her soul. Hermaeus Mora will betray Miraak because she is the stronger. The Demon will claim she was his agent and it was her choice to involve Storn to aid her and thus the cause of his death. That Storn's sacrifice is proof of her submission to his power. It does not belong to Hermaeus Mora. This cannot happen. This must not happen. Help us to bring forth the Divine Spirit of Jhunal.

"Unite, Ancestors, to again breach Apocrypha. Let us teach this prideful prince that owning the books does not automatically grant him the fullness of its contents, nor the skill to write, nor the authority to say he may judge the story of one's life before it is even written."

The Ancestors whispered dreadful instructions. Revyn caught Little Nicky's eye as he drew Symmachus's Dagger. Nicky grimaced and went around to the others, whispering.

He went to stand behind Savos, reaching around in a gentle embrace with the point of the dagger to Savos's midriff. Very softly he said, "For Atmah and Hafnar," naming the friends Savos had betrayed and sacrificed so long ago during his prideful, overconfident youth.

Savos did not stop his spellcasting but he nodded ever so slightly.

Revyn pulled the dagger in. Savos gasped and doubled over. Though his body reflexively jerked in Revyn's embrace he didn't try to escape. Revyn stepped them both into the pool of the Wind Stone then pulled out the dagger and held Savos as his blood flooded out and mixed into the water. The altered stone's power melded with the portal. The waters churned. A force seized Savos and pulled him from Revyn's arms to vanish into the pool.

Something flared overhead. A translucent owl the size of a cliff-racer, white feathers edged in red gold, orange prismatic eyes, then it, the light, the portal was gone. The Wind Stone was a dead, carved rock and the water was clear again.

He dropped the dagger into the pool and sat down on the pool rim and waited and prayed. Edd sighed and sat down also, waiting and thinking his own thoughts. The guards circled about, watching for hostile wildlife and cultists.

The night passed and with the dawn Helsette came walking over the bridge from the village.

Revyn stood and held his arms open, uncertain of her mood. He was only marginally relieved when she flowed into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Did Savos really have to die?" she asked softly against his neck.

"Yes. Rules of the game. Divines cannot again manifest in Daedric realms or on Mundus once they've left, no more than a serpent can reuse the skin it has shed. Only through avatars. It's blood magic on a Divine scale. Divines died when Mundus was created and the present gods are the ones that survive the slaughter. If they reclaimed their stolen power, the world dies and so they don't. Avatars are reclaimed pieces. Speaking through an avatar is nonlethal. But to actually carry divinity's fire? We just aren't built for that and death is inevitable.

"But the Ancestors tell me that if one can sever the connection of the soul from the body just as the Divine takes over, then the soul may survive the destruction of flesh. The body, for a time, becomes the Divine's artifact for its power. As for the soul, well, Savos has forever regretted betraying his friends in Labrynthia so he accepts for his soul whatever justice the god meets out."

"Oh, Revyn, it's just not right. He didn't deserve this."

"Savos made the choice. He could've stopped me at any time. I released his soul on this side of the gate because if he had died over there, he'd be Mora's prize.

She looked over at Edd who held his hands up in self-defense. "Archmage, this is beyond my knowledge base. The crude definition of a mystic is one who seeks to connect to the divinity and power of the world; the spiritualist, to connect to that within. I'm a mystic, but not a very good one I admit. I only learned what was needed to shut down an Oblivion Gates. I can use the tools, but I'm the farthest thing from being a Psijic Master." He frowned and looked at Revyn. "Who are Atmah and Hafnar? You invoked their names when asking Savos permission to kill him."

"Revyn! How could you?" she said, shocked.

"Jhunal's price; Jhunal's mercy," Revyn answered. "As I have said, Savos has felt guilty for decades. He'd gladly let his soul be destroyed to balance his crime, but the god has no use for dead souls. That was Jhunal's price.

"And I am selfish, my love, but know that I'd gladly sell my life and my soul to save you. If Savos had refused, I would have paid Jhunal for his aid. Yet, Savos needed this more for his own soul than for you. Do you understand?"

"No. But you can try to explain it to me later. I'm too tired and sad to think about it."

"I know, love, I know. I will miss him also."

Revyn pulled back from her and framed her face in his hands. "What happened over there? Or is it too soon to talk?"

"I was winning. Mora would have killed Miraak but a giant owl attacked. Then Savos was there. He had his full power and he said Jhunal wanted him alive. So between him and me we subdued Miraak. Then he and Jhunal, I don't know, they bound Hermaeus Mora in some sort of prison within his own realm. He's taken over Apocrypha like Jager Tharn took over the Empire. Apocrypha has a new Prince. A Divine Prince."

"Interesting. How did Miraak take that?" asked Revyn.

"Don't know. Don't care," she answered curtly. "Let's go to the hostel and rest, love. Storn's funeral will be tomorrow morning. Then we have to start planning one for Savos."

+—+—+—+—+

Mephala wasn't happy. They all returned to find a spider dremora scuttling inside Severin Manor. Revyn had the bright idea of chucking the Black Books at it, which it grabbed and then dived into a giant web and disappeared. "I believe the Prince says we've interfered enough," Revyn said.

"I'm good with that," said Helsette. "I'd like things to get back to normal too. Break up a bandit group, rebury some vampires. What about you, dear? Knock some sense back into Ulfric, sell the Khajiit a new line of hair extensions?"

"Ulfric's sending me to the Reach."

"No. Absolutely not."

"It's my job, dearest. I have to. He wouldn't have allowed me to come to Solstheim if I didn't promise. Besides, I'd like to look over Vlindrel Hall and visit with Ainethach and help him come up with ideas for dealing with the Silver-Bloods."

"You keep getting into trouble, Revyn. I don't like that. You're suppose to be the safe, stable one here and I'm the one that gets into trouble. I worry I'll have to come over there and bust you out of Cidna Mine or rescue you from a Forsworn camp."

"I promise to stay out of any mines, dear, except Sanaurach, all right? Now, please, I'll be fine. I promise to take some guards with me."

"You had guards and you still got kidnapped by vampires!"

"Markarth and Sanaurach Mine, that's all, I swear. No side trips, no wandering in places I shouldn't be. I'll take Little Nicky and Athis along. I'll have your housecarl, Argis, escort me about. I promise, love, every precaution. Really. I'm not looking for any trouble."


	44. City of Stone, pt1

_A/N: (1) Using smithing perks, smithing enchantments, and skill potions I once got a Forsworn Furkini up to 400 protection, and that's before light armor perks. (2) Nope, no such shower in Vlindrel Hall, made up._  
 _\+ "Hymn of Breaking Strain" by Leslie Fish & Julia Ecklar_

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

CITY OF STONE — Gold for the Mistress

He wondered if it would be too much trouble to install a Telvanni lift to get to Vlindrel Hall or, at the very least, rails along the wall to help with the climb. He tried not to resent the Vlindrel Hall housecarl, Argis, too much as the Nord paused patiently on the stairs ahead of him. The Nord carried not only Revyn's luggage but the groceries he'd picked up as they passed through the marketplace below. The Nord wasn't even breathing hard while Revyn thought he'd pass out from exhaustion. He was only slightly mollified that the five other babes, all 200 years younger than him, were also showing signs of fatigue. But then there was Lytram Ulesure, his age and in full heavy chitin armor, sans helmet, ahead with the Nord and showing no signs of fatigue.

Finally. While the view from the front porch was magnificent and awe-inspiring, it couldn't hold a candle to the cool, dry interior of the Hall. Revyn collapsed over a planter just inside the door. Snowberries. He plucked a few berries to eat.

"Nice place," said Littlie Nicky, whistling appreciatively. Little Nicky was his wife's human cousin who ran with the Whiterun Companions and currently the head of Revyn's "bodyguards." His best friend was Athis, the first Dunmer Companion. And Arven was a Windhelm sellsword that Revyn had hired before and liked. The youngsters trotted deeper in the home, their energies renewed. Companions normally didn't do "bodyguard" work so Nicky and Athis were officially on vacation and freelancing.

Thane Icewind and his housecarl had also already proceeded into the depths of Vlindrel Hall.

"Where can I set up?" asked Calder, Thane Icewind's housecarl, addressing Argis.

"This place doesn't have any guest bedrooms, just hers and mine and the other rooms are her alchemy and enchanter labs. My room is over there. I've removed my stuff so you're welcome to set in there. The main hall is has plenty of space and, like I said, I can buy some easy set-up partitions for privacy later today when I go back to the market.

"Oh, wow! Pretty kinky here. Hey, Revyn, Helsi ever wear this getup around you? Hey, Revyn, where are you?"

"Be still a moment, child! I'll get there in a minute." Revyn groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet and he walked into the main room. Nicky was standing by a mannequin with some sort of leather and cords and feathers and bones costume on it. If that was armor, he, Revyn, was the high priest of Dibella.

"Typical wear for Forsworn women," said Argis, appearing beside him with a chilled cup of snowberry juice. "When she's off exploring in the wilds it amuses her to wear that. Jarl Igmund nearly had an apoplexy when she pranced into his court in that costume after she'd retrieved his father's shield for him. Your bedroom's this way, sera." Revyn examined the costume, imagined his wife in it, and shuddered. After climbing the stairs, that level of excitement would be deadly. Argis escorted him to the master bedroom and handed him some keys. "Main doors, bedroom, and this key is to the lockbox on that table there. I've put all confidential correspondence in there. There are some urgent messages from Tel Windstad and one from the College of Winterhold. Courier will be coming tomorrow evening on his rounds. And I've also put in there the list of people you've asked me to track. Ainethach of Sanuarach Mine is particularly eager to see you.

"I'll see the rest of your party settled and then head back to the market to buy some things. Anything else I can get for you there?

"Why don't you take the children with you? They can help carry stuff. Just make sure they don't get themselves arrested, please."

Argis smirked. "Will do, sera."

No baths here but something called a shower, a raised dais caged and around which was hung oil cloth. Adjustable nozzles sprouting from various points and centered at the top of the cage was a perforated disk. Two knobs controlled the hot and cold water and the nozzles could be adjusted to hit just the right spots. The oil cloth directed the water spray to the gutter drains around the dais. Oh gods, in 2000 years no one had yet figured out the miracles of Dwemer plumbing? He couldn't imagine what kind of pumps still operated deep underground in Nchuand-Zel. It would be fascinating to examine except that his wife had deliberately turned back on the ancient Dwemer defense system to prevent an invasion by the Falmer and so a self-repairing army of spiders and centurions roamed the underground city.

Thane Icewind had been sent along with him by Jarl Ulfric. It was a condition the Jarl had imposed for allowing Revyn to miss the last weeks of court sessions to go to Solstheim where his wife was handling the Miraak threat there. What Thane Icewind's business was was none of Revyn's concern, thankfully. Nor did Icewind have any say in what Revyn's business was. All Revyn was expected to do was give Icewind a secure place from which to conduct his business from.

Icewind's housecarl had laid out a light lunch of bread, sliced cold meats and fruits. Revyn filled a plate and wandered outside to look over Markarth as he ate. To his right he saw the owner of the neighboring house, known locally as Nepos the Nose, accompanied by two servants making their way up the stairs to go home. The group paused while one of the servants unlocked the door. Nepos looked up and locked gazes with Revyn. Revyn smiled faintly and inclined his head in respectful acknowledgement. Nepos returned the nod then went inside.

According to his wife, Nepos officially was a business manager for the Silver-Bloods. Unofficially, he was the untitled steward of Markarth. Jarl Igmund's uncle, the official steward, handled business between the Holds, but the day-to-day grind of running the city was left to the Silver-Bloods and that meant Nepos. He debated whether he should call on the Silver-Bloods first or just go straight to the man handling the books, which was Nepos.

He decided he would follow protocol and call on Thonar Silver-Blood first, establish himself as the husband and business manager Thane Faro, and talk about accounts in the Markarth Treasury of which Thonar administered. But he would also have a dinner invitation delivered to Nepos as a "meet-the-neighbor" courtesy.

+—+—+—+—+—+

After two hours of talking with Thonar Silver-Blood, Revyn wanted to pour molten silver down his throat. Oh, Thonar definitely wanted Thane Faro's gold banked in the Markarth Treasury; it was of sufficient size to overlook the fact she wasn't a Nord and that some of it came from the Reachman-owned Ainethach. Thane Faro owning part of that silver mine had been a sore point for Thonar for the past five years. Revyn didn't see the problem. Ainethach faithfully paid his taxes. Any profits Revyn and his wife got from the mine went to pay taxes to the Stormcloak, and shouldn't that make Thonar, a public supporter of the Stormcloak, happy? Of course, Thonar admitted through gritted teeth. But the silver would be best in Nord hands, Silver-Blood Nords, was what he couldn't say to the face of his Dunmer guest. A Dunmer who was also an unlikely steward of Windhelm and thus, presumably, a trusted counselor to the Stormcloak.

A wandering mercenary in bizarre crab-like insect armor had appeared in Understone Keep, invited, it seemed, by that suspect Altmer mage, Calcelmo, who had written to her regarding some new Dwemer toy that she'd found. After that, like any footloose mercenary she nosed about picking up random jobs. For Calcelmo she went underground to find a lost expedition, incidentally saving Markarth from a Falmer invasion by reactivating the Dwemer's army of automatons — if reports from the elf were to be believed. Hard to prove since city soldiers refused to go into the Dwemer city unless directly ordered by the Jarl and those that were never came back. And the Imperial guard commander refused to lend any more of his people to the investigation. It seemed the mercenary had made her own report to him and he bought her whole cloth of a story.

She interfered with a professional mercenary troop hired to protect Markarth interests out in the mining camps, most notably the Karthwasten operation; somehow managing to intimidate the fool troop leader into withdrawing. The recalcitrant mine owner, Ainethach, then signed her on as a partner to his operation to retain her protection. But what really won her the opportunity to buy into Markarth was her ability to infiltrate a Forsworn camp and kill a particularly bothersome Briarheart and then infiltrate another camp to reclaim Jarl Igmund's family shield. The ease which she came up with the 12,000 septims to purchase and furnish Vlindrel Hall proved she was no hand-to-mouth spellsword.

That Thane Faro had wealth was not in question. One could tell by the quality of her armor and her weapons. Jarl Igmund, of course, had his uncle make inquiries of the other Holds. It had been Ambassador Ondolemar who had revealed she had Imperial connections and that were it not for her family's status, the Dominion would have arrested her for her "crimes." Steward Raerek did some asking of the other Hold stewards.

She was a Thane in both Solitude and Morthal with rich properties in both. Especially Morthal, where she and other Dunmer were building their own weird mushroom town within sight of Solitude. Titles she'd won by her sword like she had in Markarth, and then rewarded the Holds who allowed her mate to set up his business ventures. Jarl Igmund very much wanted the Silver-Bloods to cooperate with the thane's husband. As for her "crimes," no evidence could be found of any and the Thalmor refused to elaborate on what she had done to earn their hatred.

Thonar had finally gotten frustrated to the point of asking Revyn which Imperial family the thane was related to. "House Felix" Revyn had answered with a smile. "My wife is the daughter of General Innana Faro of the 2nd Legion. House Felix, if they aren't serving in the Legion, trade all across the world. I like to keep an ear out for opportunities for them."

"Wasn't Karthwasten an opportunity for them?"

"No. They only deal in wine and spices. Silver ore has no interest. They would rather others do the mining, the refining, the shaping, then ultimately, the paying for the products they sell."

"And you, does the silver matter to you?"

"The mine only matters because it is a wedding gift from my wife. It could be nothing more than a place for mushrooms and bears and still it would matter."

"Oh, very nice," said Thonar, sneering. "But it just so happens it has silver in it."

Revyn smiled, letting his amusement show. Then he laughed. "Yes, so it does. And so far, that's all I've found of worth in Markarth. I was hoping you could direct me to other opportunities worth investing in besides silver."

It was sad conditions when his brief meeting with the Thalmor Ambassador proved more interesting.

He and his escort had been on his way to visit Wizard Calcelmo in his work area outside the doors to Nchuand-Zel when an imperious, "You there!" halted him. He turned and saw the Thalmor Justiciar gliding towards him. A black raven flanked by two golden eagles.

"Serjo," said Revyn, bowing politely as the Thalmor halted in front of him. "How may I be of service?" Little Nicky and Athis fanned to the sides even as the Justiciar's bodyguards did the same.

"So it seems someone in this blighted place knows their place." Revyn did not respond to that. Years of customer service gave him a thick shell to the graceless manners of the privileged, both factual and delusional. "I have questions for you."

"Delighted to oblige. Shall we find a more appropriate place or shall we stand here and entertain the Jarl's dogs?"

The Justiciar sneered with disgust as the hounds rubbed against him with no regard for his space or the hair they left on his elegant black and gold robes.

"Nicky," said Revyn. Nicky whistled drawing off the hounds and, after a little petting, sent them towards the kitchen.

"Whom do I have the honor of speaking to?" asked Revyn.

"I am Ondolemar, Chief Justiciar in Skyrim."

"Ah. That would make you second to First Emissary, Lady Elenwen. Such an elegant, refined lady. An enlightening experience meeting her at the private wedding reception of Snowshod to the Emperor's cousin. Proudspire Manor had many luminaries that night and she was among the brightest there." He moved the party over to a quiet corner. Nicky and Athis fell behind and turned their backs. The dogs had come back and Nicky occupied them with a simple game of throw and fetch with a knotted sash. Athis waived down a passing servant and sent for drinks as Revyn had managed to get the Justiciar to take a seat at a stone table.

"Not as enlightening as your wife," said the Justiciar.

"Agreed. But then, I am heavily prejudiced in favor of my wife and naturally find there are very few that compare."

"We've been watching her, you know. She has managed to secure titles in more than one Hold."

"Yes. These Nords do seem to value the strength of one's sword arm. That's one virtue I do appreciate about them; one's bloodline can become a secondary concern to one's rise to nobility if their ability for battle is uncommon. Not always the case in mer culture. Except House Telvanni, which acknowledges raw power above blood."

"The flaw is that any crude creature of low intellect can make himself king if he kills enough," said the Justiciar, sneering.

"Or, as history has shown, any race may do the same," answered Revyn, smiling blandly.

"She comes of a line loyal to the Medes. Why has she not joined the Legion?"

"Not that it's any concern of yours, my lord Justiciar, apologies for my bluntness, but she's just not that interested. She's young and she likes to make her own mark in the world."

"One would think that as the older, presumably wiser one of the marriage that you would do better to guide her to a course of wisdom for it's clear she needs a firm hand."

"I do believe we are getting a bit personal, serjo. I have quite firm control over finances and my young wife listens quite closely when I explain the ins and out of resource expenditures."

"Perhaps you would do better to control her allowances."

"Whyfor? My beloved is not one to waste her time or money on frivolous parties." Revyn's smile was equally as nasty as the Justiciar's. "Any parties she organizes are quite controlled and to a purpose."

"Parties that you know of perhaps."

"True. Her playful ways may upset the carefully planned affairs of others, but only brigands and other such scum need fear her bursting in on their parties. She is quite the bounty hunter, you know."

"Yes. She scrabbles in the blood for bits of gold while you, you scrabble about for the favors of an avowed enemy of the Empire her family serves and who confines your own people to drown in the sewers of his city."

A hound scrabbled across the table top, knocking over cups and scattering candles while it chased the rag ball that soared overhead.

"Whoops! Most humble apologies, sirs!" said Nicky with a cheeky grin at odds with his embarrassed tone.

"You did that deliberately, you barbaric—"

"This has been a most enlightening exchange, lord Justiciar," said Revyn firmly. "But I believe we are both busy mer and must be about our businesses. Good day. Nicky, stop playing with those dogs. Athis, stop trying to provoke the Justiciar's guard. I'm sure she's not amused by your posturing." Athis laughed and shrugged as he walked away from the tall and slender golden bird. Oddly enough, she flashed Revyn a friendly smile that immediately disappeared into cool professionalism as the Justiciar whirled around and stalked off.

"I think she likes you, cousin. You do have a way with girls. How do you do it?"

"They know I'm harmless. Now come, I want to go talk to Calcelmo."

"Do we need to hang around for that?"

"You are the ones who insisted on coming along with me. I'm sure I'm perfectly safe wandering about Understone Keep on my own."

"Sure you are, Revyn, sure."

"Look, there's the priest that we saw being harassed by the Thongor Silver-Blood. Why don't you and Athis go see if there's anything you can help him with. If there's a problem with the ancestral crypt, well, doing favors for Arkay couldn't hurt and may help."

"OK. But wait at Calcelmo's place until we get back, promise?"

"Yes, yes, mother, I'll be a good boy and wait for you."

"See that you do. And no picking fights with Justiciars."

"He started it."

"No. You did by being polite to him and then you started getting cute with him when he started baiting you. Stop inviting trouble, cousin." Revyn frowned but reluctantly accepted the chastisement.

The boys were gone for quite a while, but Revyn didn't find time with Calcelmo too taxing. The mer's passion about the Dwemer was, well, amusing was the word Revyn used to describe it. This one's focus was on their way of life, but he had to interpret it from the machines they left behind and what scraps he could gather and had self-taught, albeit with many an imprecise understanding, to read. Altmer history didn't have as much interaction with the Dwemer as the Dunmer had. And it was a pity that he and Mage-Lord Baladas Demnevanni didn't quite get along. The mage-lord used to have plenty of books and scrolls from the Dwemer, had records of his grandparents' dealing with Kagrenac's engineer-wizards before the alliance fell apart, but his understanding of their engineering sciences floundered, and that was the focus of his interests. Both were very opinionated mer and needed some sort of buffer between their personalities so that they didn't set each other off. Calcelmo's nephew was not adequate enough a buffer. He didn't really care about the Dwemer and both older mer knew it. Nor was his personality strong enough to handle the friction.

Calcelmo's lecture about evidence of how the automatons actually served the Dwemer in a domestic, housekeeping capacity was interrupted by the Jarl's housecarl who was relaying some demand from the Jarl. Revyn wasn't listening to them. He was shifting through Calcelmo's notes and his attention was caught on some unusual writing.

"Poetry, Calcelmo? Or a prayer from the Dwemer?"

"Poems?" echoed the housecarl, looking at him with interest.

"Oh, yes, a song of mourning oddly fitting of the Dwemer. Would you care to listen, sera?" Without waiting for a reply he began to recite.

 _The prudent textbooks measure (let all who build, beware)_  
 _The load, the shock, the pressure material can bear_  
 _So when the buckling girder let's down the grinding span_  
 _The blame of loss or murder is laid upon the man_  
 _Not on the steel — the man_

 _But, in our daily dealing with stone and steel we find_  
 _The Gods have no such feeling of justice toward merkind_  
 _To no set gauge they make us; for no laid course prepare_  
 _In time they overtake us with loads we cannot bear_  
 _Too merciless to bear_

 _The prudent textbooks give it in tables at the end_  
 _The stress that shears a rivet or makes a tie-bar bend_  
 _What traffic wrecks macadam what concrete should endure_  
 _But we, poor Sons of [Adhem? ancestral/origination archetype?], have no such literature_  
 _To warn us or make sure_

 _We hold all Nirn to plunder — all time and space as well_  
 _To wonder — stale — to wonder at each new miracle_  
 _Till in the mid-illusion of Godhood 'neath our hand_  
 _Falls multiple confusion on all we did or planned_  
 _The mighty works we planned_

 _We only in Creation (how much luckier the bridge and rail)_  
 _Abide the twin damnation — to fail. And know we fail_  
 _Yet we — by which [Heart? soul?] token — we know we once were Gods_  
 _Take shame in being broken however great the odds_  
 _The Burden or the Odds_

 _Oh, veiled and secret Powers whose paths we seek in vain_  
 _Be with us in our hour of overthrow and pain_  
 _That we — by which [your token? soul-token? a sacrifice? Example?] — we know Thy ways are true_  
 _In spite of being broken — Or because of being broken_  
 _Rise up and build anew_  
 _Stand up and build anew_

He looked at the housecarl. "What do you think, my dear, as a woman of war and steel, who lives in a city carved of the stone of these mountains and at whose heart beneath such a city still works the iron of a long-dead race?"

She shook her heard. "I've never thought of it before. Did they really think that?"

"I don't know. Calcelmo, is this how you interpreted their works? I know you're not much of a mechanic and you prefer to know the people and their lives. Very hard to come by for some reason, their literature," he confided to the woman. "Dwemer written works did not survive the ages well. Steel corrodes far slower than paper rots to dust. Calcelmo's done very well trying to picture a culture from the works or tracks they left behind. Takes a great deal of imagination and passion to do that; it's an art really, requiring the soul of an artist to interpret."

The woman looked at the old Altmer with new interest and he, surprisingly, blushed brightly under her regard. "I did the best I could from what I could make of the writing," he said abashedly. "The writer had a son or nephew that died in some construction accident. The scraps indicated that he was trying to prove his relative's innocence from charges of criminal negligence, that it was some flaw in the material. It was his words."

"But your compassion that sees the grief in the scraps; honors the grief and sings a mourning song," said Revyn. "Don't underestimate that. If you don't mind, I'll make a copy of this. It's something worth keeping to remind ourselves that no matter how amazing our works, we'll never be gods. In fact, it reminds me of an old Dunmer joke. It goes, 'Kagrenac once boasted that there was nothing the gods could make that he could not duplicate as well with his tools and the knowledge the Dwemer had acquired. One god, Sait'iss, whom we now call Sithis, the void from which all came from, manifested, amused by this boast. ' _Challenge accepted. Make something for me that proves your godhood_.' Kagrenac picked up his hammer. ' _You fail_ ,' whispered the dread void. ' _How so?_ ' asked Kagrenac. ' _Make your own ore and fire and air from nothing as I have done. Borrowed godhood is not.'_ " The housecarl laughed. Revyn noted Calcelmo's besotted expression and the way he stared at the young human woman. "So, your permission to make a copy?" he nudged the Altmer.

"Oh? Oh, yes, of course, of course."

"I'll have one too, if you don't mind," said the housecarl. The Altmer's blush renewed even stronger that Revyn worried for a moment the other would swoon.

"Oh, he likes you," he murmured to the housecarl. She looked sharply at him. "What makes you think that?" she said in suddenly harsh tones. Calcelmo looked alarmed and was paling.

"No fool like an old fool," he replied, smiling at her. "My lovely and fierce warrior wife was only 18 when I saw and heard her singing at the Cornerclub. One would think an old shopkeeper wouldn't turn into an embarrassing pile of mush for such a child, or that she would have any interest in one so much older than her, but there it was and she took pity. The breaking point that transcends ages." He tapped the poem in his hand. "Here, no need to wait around for me to make copies. I'll deliver one to you before I leave.'" The housecarl thanked him and left to return to her post. Calcelmo collapsed on a nearby stone bench.

"I thought she'd tear you apart," he confessed. "Faleen's like that. Can turn to fire in an instant. Beautiful, but frightening."

"And weakness for poetry it seems. And I do know how you feel. My own love can also breathe fire when she's annoyed." They spent a while in companionable silence; Revyn writing and Calcelmo lost in is own thoughts and an occasional dreamy smile lighting his face.

Revyn hadn't thought he'd be playing love life counselor today but now he was listening to Calcelmo rhapsodizing about the Redguard housecarl, and propping the Altmer's confidence that he could talk to the young woman without tripping over his tongue. Altmers, he mentally sighed. They had such idealistic, romanticized views of love. Calcelmo was still very much old-fashion in his views and Revyn had to remind him to touch ground with some earthy facts, namely, that a human didn't have that many years to spend in a long, leisurely courtship of decades, if that was Calcelmo's dream. And Faleen had impressed Revyn as an "all-or-nothing" kind of girl so the Altmer had better decide in his mind quite firmly if bedding was to be part of the relationship. And if so, was Calcelmo ready for and capable of that? Would Revyn have to explain the nuts and bolts of relationships? For gods' sakes, he lived in a city where the biggest temple here was the temple to Dibella!

Using the technique of role-play that he used with his wife, he guided Calcelmo through some possible scenarios with Faleen, reminding him constantly to use his known work in Dwemer studies as a way to lead discussions to timeless themes of commonalities, of family, hopes, dreams. And Faleen, being a young woman of war, well, she had shown she had a softer side for poetry and, presumably, poets. He gave Calcelmo some general fishing questions to use to draw out better information on the types of poetry the young woman favored, and thereby determine her interests and the shape of her dreams. During the discussion he gleaned that the Silver-Blood's chief leg-breaker was Yngvar, a bard turned mercenary when it proved songs and poems were not highly valued in Markarth. It also turned out Yngvar was a ladies' man and a friend of Faleen's, at least in a martial sense as far as Calcelmo could tell. Faleen was not one for casual affairs.

Well, a silver-tongued ladies' man and a bard, there was a possible shortcut to exploit there if Calcelmo was willing to part with some gold and hire the man as a coach. Revyn didn't know of a bard who would turn down the challenge to help romance along. And since Yngvar regularly came to the Keep on Silver-Blood business, she would have no cause to suspect collusion if Yngvar was occasionally seen in Calcelmo's company. Dwemer ruins often had large, exposed pockets of ore and it was totally conceivable that there might also be silver deposits down there that, of course, the Silver-Bloods would be interested in. Calcelmo willingly handed over 200 in gold if Revyn would hire Yngvar for him. Revyn was impressed. The Altmer was quite serious about his courtship to hand out that large a fee to a go-between.

He gave Faleen's poem copy to Calcelmo, instructing him to tell Faleen that he had insisted on delivering the poem himself and also wanted to present Faleen with a small token of appreciation for her time to listen his work. As for the token, Revyn suggested a fine bottle of wine or a polished, sharpened Dwemer dagger, like that dagger Helsette had delivered to him so long ago. Revyn knew she'd polished it and re-tempered and sharpened it and recharged its lightning enchantment. That is, if Calcelmo was finished studying it. Calcelmo would have run off to do all that immediately but for Revyn asking him to stay. Warrior woman, he said to Calcelmo, could have peculiar demands. Like as now, a little past trouble, and his wife made him promise to take along babysitters, and he'd promised his sitters to stay with Calcelmo until they returned, which they hadn't as of yet.

It was long past dinner when the boys finally showed up looking grim. The Priest of Arkay did have quite a problem in the catacombs. A priestess of Namira had been eating the dead. She was a strong sorceress and it was quite a battle to kill her. They were tired, had injuries that needed tending to, and were hungry. No meat, please. A lot of bread and vegetable soup and wine would do for now. Calcelmo had his nephew go to the kitchen to fetch food and medical supplies. He came back with the items and the kitchen maid, Voada, coincidentally Ainethach's daughter, also carrying some of them. Revyn introduced himself to Voada and had a pleasant chat with her while Calcelmo saw to the injuries.

+—+—+—+—+—+

Icewind hadn't yet returned to the Hall. Revyn wrote him a note that he and his young guards would be out a couple days at Karthwasten and politely wished the thane good hunting with his mission.


	45. City of Stone, pt2

_Aurora Nova: Dang, you're right. I was side-stepping the original references to "Adam" and Christianity and didn't properly register the capital "E" in earth, thinking only literally of the ground soil (thinking locally and not globally). This song was one among many sung at the 1-year anniversary memorial at Cape Canaveral for the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster of Jan. 28, 1986._

 _GalacticHalfling: Oh, he's already in trouble. Guilt by association and all that. And I'm sure Ondolemar's nose was quivering as the ramrod was shoved even higher when she started flirting with him during that party while the low-class excuse of a ruler of Whiterun smirked at him._

 _A/N: non-canon lore on Dibella. Previous chapter edited and reposted._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

CITY OF STONE — Silver for the Maid

Revyn felt that Argis needed to remain at Vlindrel Hall in light the many sensitive papers and/or contracts Revyn and Icewind had laying about the place. So Argis hired a local mercenary, Vorstag, to serve in his place as guide and guard. The mercenary didn't like mines or being underground, he made that known, but the reason he stayed in Markarth was that he had a fascination with the Dwemer and was a frequent visitor to Calcelmo's museum. Revyn showed him the Dawnguard version of the Dwemer crossbow, for which he happily knocked his fee to half to keep. Revyn let it go knowing his wife preferred her own lightweight bows over the heavy crossbow.

They reloaded their carriage parked at the Markarth stables. From Windhelm to Morthal they'd ridden their sturdy, Windhelm bred horses. At Whiterun, Revyn and Lytram had surrendered their riding horses for a large wagon two slow but strong horses. On the wagon had been piled trade goods. Icewind had not been pleased but Revyn didn't care. He'd come to the Reach to do business and trading was his business. Revyn did the driving and Lytram kept watch with a loaded crossbow.

As they passed through Falkreath Ysolda's trade caravan joined them. Ysolda and the 30 members of the Uvayn trading family were armed and prepared for this new venture. Ysolda and Falina Uvayn greeted Revyn with kisses. "Are you sure about this?" he asked them again. "I can't guarantee anything once we go into the Reach. There's no relying on Imperial troops or Markarth Guards if there's trouble."

"Pfft!" said Falina. "Most of us older ones remember trying to trade through battle-happy Erabenimsun lands and watching our backsides for blight beasts. Our spears are sharp and ready, Revyn, and we've sent scouts ahead who've gone to Karthwasten and back

The travel to Karthwasten had been uneventful. The few robber groups they'd spotted had quickly melted away seeing the organized lines of Dunmer spear fighters jogging alongside the trade wagons. A few Forsworn observers who didn't bother to hide watched that the Dunmer were heading to where they'd stated they were going. Gift baskets with trade symbols were left where observers were seen; in them were various food samples and ornamental trinkets.

The trade caravan set up camp at Karthwasten, a hamlet of around 200, and Revyn and his group moved onto Markarth. Now Revyn's group returned and it seemed trade was going well with Ysolda and Falina. There were Forsworn mingling with the Karthwasten townsfolk. Today's attraction seemed to be around the bonemold crafter. A Forsworn child had brought forth a basket of broken bone weapons and tools to trade. She wanted a pretty, colorful necklace of polished stones and minerals. The Dunmer merchant sorted through the basket then called over her mate who grunted at the bone items laid out for him to inspect. He made of show of considering the useless implements. Then, with a smirk, pointed to the skulls adorning the belt of the warrior behind the child. A puzzled scowl, then slowly the Reachman detached the skull and tossed it over. The Dunmer craftsman grinned. He tossed skull and broken tools into a shallow stone bowl and barked and order to his two apprentices who came to the bowl with iron longhammers.

Then came the pounding. The boys hefted the hammers and with practiced, well-coordinated strikes began cracking and crushing the bones. The craftsman expertly raked the bones and fragments between the strikes. Eventually the bones became grit. The grit was tossed into a boiling pot of chemicals that turned the black iron stirring spoon shiny silver. The stew eventually poured into clay molds. When the molds had cooled, the craftsman broke them open to reveal spearheads and dagger blades. Lump defects were ground out and then the edges sharpened.

The surrounding Dunmer made a show of grinning, knowing how their red eyes and white teeth in their ashen features looked to the Forsworn. Using a newly created spearpoint, the craftsman picked up a couple stone necklaces and presented them to the child. The Forsworn grinned back; they appreciated the humor. Revyn picked up one of the new blades to give to the skull's previous owner saying, "We who worship Boethiah have a saying: May your enemies' deaths serve you as they opposed you in life."

The warrior laughed. "I like that. Honor to Boethiah," he answered.

"Honor to Boethiah," echoed another. "You know, I have this pile of Nord skulls cluttering my tent. Lousy outsiders. I don't need any spears, maybe . . ."

"Have you ever seen bonemold armor?" suggested Revyn. He wandered off while the craftsman brought out armor samples. Townspeople were looking with more interest at the bonemold tools, the idea of doing something useful with old cattle and animal bones catching interest.

"Really, cousin?" said Nicky, pained. He glanced over at Arven who was looking a little pale. Vorstag looked grimly amused. "The Dwemer had weapons of iron and steel from beneath the land, so did the barbarians Nords with metals of their lands. All we Chimer had were our wits and the resources above ground. Courage, blood, and bone."

It was a play. Customers listened even when they seemed preoccupied with shopping. When you talk on the floor, always assume somebody was listening and watching while they contemplated whether or not to buy your goods.

There were two deeply hooded, heavily robed figures among the Forsworn. Seemingly age bent. Feral of movement. One gazed his way. Revyn bowed, gravely acknowledging their regard.

"You. Come here," said one of its two hulking escorts. Revyn approached, looking only at the robed one.

"How may I be of service?"

"Who are you?" the escort demanded.

He answered, again only looking at the robed one, "The name is Revyn Sadri. I am part owner of the Sanaurach Mine. My normal place is in Windhelm, on the other side of the country. I am married to Faro, the Thane of Markarth."

"The Red-eyed devil woman who dances outside the camps, whose song is death to all that hear," crooned the hooded one in a harsh voice.

"Star of Azura and bane of Hermaeus Mora. Only if you prove to be her enemy. Only if you fail to heed the spirits who tell you to turn your face away when she walks near you."

"There are many in the Reach who would kill you for merely being her mate."

"As I understand it, gracious sister of shadows, there even more who would kill me for merely being on the wrong side of the border. Which I find amusing because if I step out of the Reach, there are many who would do the same for being in Nord territory."

The Hagraven pushed her hood down. Bony, raptor twisted features, beady black eyes, surprisingly pretty gold-tipped deep blue feathers mixed into frizzy brown hair. Karthwasten villagers pulled away quickly, leaving a wide circle around them. She stepped closer to Revyn. Lifted a hand and laid long-taloned fingers on his cheek. Her grin was unpleasant to see, but amused. "The spirits are strong about you. She of the Ravens favors you; declares that those who do not hinder the dark paths you walk will find tokens of her blessing. Madness is your shadow. Strongest of your patrons is the new Lord of Secrets. The blood of your sacrifice to him still stains your hands."

Revyn lifted her hand from his cheek and solemnly kissed her knuckles. "I honor the Old Gods of my homeland though home be lost under ash and fire. I've been blessed to marry the herald of change for Forces older than the Old. Change will happen. One can only adapt or die. Choose wisely. Above all, choose what can only be true to you."

She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Then reached up both hands to pull him down by his ears for a hard, deep kiss. Then one hand went down grab to grab his balls, her talons slicing through his padded cotton tunic and thin leather pants. When she released him she turned and walked away. Her guards followed her after giving Revyn curt bows of respect. Revyn never saw that; he had dropped to his knees and was bowed over.

Nicky pulled him back up to his feet. "Ooo, such a sweet talker you are. Oh, yes, you are!" he cooed.

"Shut up, Nicky. And someone, please, a pint of paint thinner."

"Shit. Did she geld you? You're bleeding!" said Nicky, shocked. "Damn, Revyn, for a guy who prides himself on being 'harmless,' you have some fatal attractions."

After large bottle of trail-brewed shein, verification it was only flesh wounds, and a change of clothes Revyn felt ready to wander out again. Ainethach showed him Sanaurach Mine and Revyn made the proper remarks for admiration. He even swung a pickaxe for a few minutes and told Ainethach how he'd spend 20 years when he first came to Skyrim quarrying stone in the Winterhold mountains.

Karthwasten also had a smaller mine in the area, the Fenn's Gulch mine. They walked to the other mine away from the crowd at Sanaurach. When they got there they saw a great white bear sleeping at the entrance. Revyn waived guards and warriors back. After studying the dozing creature for a moment he ordered everyone to stay clear of it and not to do anything to wake or disturb it. Then he ran back to his trade wagon. He dug into his stash of liquor to pluck out the largest bottle of honey wine from Goldenglow Estate.

"Revyn, what's going on?" asked Nicky.

"That's an avatar. Feels like a Daedra. The drink is an offering," he explained.

"I'll deliver it," said Nicky. "You are not to go anywhere near it in case it gets testy. You've already got claw marks that I don't want to explain to my cousin. Besides, I have a gut feeling that's Hircine."

Revyn glanced at the daedric wolf ring on Nicky's hand. "I suppose you would know," he said. "Athis, here, hold the bowl steady. Pour it in, Nicky. Quietly."

Nicky slowly and as quietly as possible approached the great beast. He knelt and placed the bowl near its head then just as slowly backed away. Withing moments the beast's nose twitched and its eyes opened revealing fiery, crimson orbs. It surveyed the silent crowd, fastened its gaze on Nicky and seemed to grin. Then it quickly lapped the bowl empty and went back to sleep.

Forsworn herded watchers away. They would stand guard to see that the god's rest was not disturbed.

"Hrokkibeg," said the second hooded visitor. She was larger. Revyn fought down the impulse to flee her nearness, even when she caressed his backside in an overly-familiar manner. "Lord of Claw and Fang in the form he favors when he seeks to rest and renew his spirit. Any and all who disturb him will be torn asunder. But, show respect and bring to him the sweet honey that pleases him and the shadow of the bear will fight for you in your time of need," she said. She cackled and looked towards Nicky. "But I see you are already his Champion. Well done. You are well-counseled by your elven shaman.

She pushed down her hood. This one had been a Nord once. "And you, tender sweetmeat, Esmerelda I am. I shall show you the signs you may use that will tell my people and Minuet's people that you are a friend. Not all in the Reach will permit it, but two camps here, at least, shall."

"Thank you, muthsera." He spent an hour with Esmerelda and then retired into Ainethach's house for the rest of the day until evening. Being groped by hagravens had been traumatic for the old elf. It wasn't so much the physical touching but the in-your-face magicks the creatures had taken in that twisted their souls, spirits, and bodies. A raw, ferocious kind predominant to Hircine's sphere, but blending with other daedric or even aedric touches according to their individual natures. Dibella's sex drive was in Minuet and Esmerelda's side influence was the more savage aspects of Kyne.

So that now Karthwasten was now deemed safe from the nearest Forsworn camps, safety patrols had gotten a little lax the following days. On the third night there was a Forsworn raid. No one was seriously hurt. The invasion had been precise — they had targeted one household only, taken only one prize, the 10-year-old girl named Fjotra, a Nord child adopted by the Bretons Enmon and Mena.

"Locals call the place Broken Tower Redoubt," said Lytram Ulesure. "Only seems to be a briarheart in charge." He and the younger men had followed after the party. The older Dres noble was actually a better tracker than the Companions or Arven by his experience as a hunter of desperate, escaped slaves. Along with many refugees he had ended up in Windhelm. Now he was the prison workforce overseer, the long, heavy whip at his side cracking over people working out their community service in the Quarter. And gods help you if you try to escape your sentence. The mer could quarter and core an apple with his whip.

Revyn had put him in charge of the hunting because he knew Nicky's and Athis's plan, had they managed to track the raiding party, would have been to immediately kick down the front door and charge in. The Dres had managed to rein them in and conduct a careful survey of the area and situation. The briarheart had secreted the girl into one of the towers guarded by loosely spaced patrols and sentries camped along the walls. They could probably extract the girl with a quick night strike of their own, but it wouldn't be without casualties. The immediate sentries and the briarheart at the very least. But one mistake and he'd no doubt the entire force within the fortress would rally to battle.

With that information in hand, Revyn persuaded one of the lingering Forsworn at the trade camp to run back an appeal to Esmerelda begging advice or aid.

Esmerelda sent back the message that the girl was imbued with the power of the Old Gods — Dibella, to be precise — and the ones who captured her will try to persuade her to accept them as her people that they may gain the blessings of the goddess. Briarheart Alban was merely trying to ensure the strength and fortunes of his clan, that the goddess's blessings went rightfully to the Reachfolk and not the leeches of Markarth. Unfortunately, he was not one of those clan leaders who took counsel with either her or Minuet. His faith was in Petra of the Blind Cliffs southwest of Karthwasten. The Hagravens there would not be friendly or listen to any non-Forsworn emissaries. However, Petra was currently in contention with Melka and thus distracted.

If the sweetmeat were clever enough, she suggested, he may be able to use this time of chaos within that tribe to his advantage. Without the guidance of Petra the briarheart may accept a guaranteed blessing of the goddess in return for the young vessel's release. But if killing is what they choose, then do so carefully with no obvious signs of their identity because tribal agreements would oblige Esmerelda and Minuet to side with the briarheart against Karthwasten and the outanders there.

Revyn and Vorstag returned to Markarth. He left Lytram in charge of the young Companions and Arven to make sure they didn't aggravate the situation.

But the Temple of Dibella was closed. The Priestesses in mourning and contemplation because their "Sybil", the incarnate of Dibella, was dead and they were praying the Goddess reveal her new vessel.

"The new Sybil's name is Fjotra and she lives in Karthwasten," Revyn declared to Senna, the priestess guarding the entry chamber and barring his way from going any deeper into the temple. "The Forsworn have captured her so that they, not Markarth, gains Dibella's favor. We must talk." Senna ordered him to wait in the entry chamber as she delivered his words to "The Mother," Hamal, who consented to leave the inner sanctum to speak with him privately. He told her he had warriors with him that could attack and get the child out but he hesitated because he feared reprisals on Karthwasten and because of the fragile peace that currently existed. Friendly hagravens hinted that a bargain might be made with the new Sybil's captor, but he needed to know what he was bargaining for.

What did he know of the Dibellan faith? After a long explanation, Revyn said, "Nicer than Prince Mephala. No watering the fields with blood required. So, the bargain is for the right to lay with the goddess upon the new Sybil's ascendancy." He grimaced as he thought of Jarl Igmund being the child's sexual initiation when she turned 14. A horrible four-year wait the 10-year-old had to look forward to. And not just because of the age difference but because he doubted the man had either the skill or sensitivity to make a child's first time pleasurable.

He also did not believe the man capable of understanding that he was bedding not just the Aedric goddess of beauty, fertility, and artistry packaged in a pretty, virginal child, but that he was shaping the next generations children in the Reach. And he was a weak man much like Jarl Korir; living in the shadow of his father, letting others like the Silver-Bloods set the tone of Markarth justice and law, sowing hate and divisiveness among the people of the Reach, and hollow courage by his boasts of warfare while he sat safe in the stone halls of a dead race. That would be the new spirit of the Reach if he was the sire.

"Jarl Hrolfdir lay with the previous Sybil. The briarheart seeks to ensure a chief of the Forsworn will take the new Sybil when she comes of age so to reap the goddess's first and greater blessings.

"Is that the only guarantee? Do the feelings of the Sybil not matter? If she resists, will not blessings be withheld?"

"We do not condone rape. And what hubris they must have to think to rape a goddess."

"So a bargaining point." Revyn sighed and considered possibilities. "But she is young, trainable, and the longer she remains with them, the more chance they have of turning her to their favor. If I can arrange it, would you be willing to come to Karthwasten to speak with the briarheart yourself?"

"You must tell them that even if they warp her thoughts so that she believes in them, they cannot succeed for there are ceremonies, training of power she must have from us before the Goddess will consent to descend into her vessel. As of now there is only the potential. And without the goddess, all that leaves is a child to face their anger and disappointment when the blessings do not manifest."

Revyn covered his face with his hands. "I see," he said, muffled. "So I must find a way to persuade them to surrender the girl and wait four years on the promise that I, a mere nobody in Markarth and the Reach, can guarantee a Forsworn will be the first to lay a goddess and deny a Jarl his right to maintain power in the Reach."

"Oh, dear." It was noontime now and Revyn retired to Vlindrel Hall and Vorstag went to his room in the Silver-Blood Inn to drink and relax. Argis let Revyn know of the new messages that awaited him. He also told him one of Nepos's servants had dropped by with an invitation two days ago, when Revyn had originally been expected to return, for dinner tonight. Argis also had some concern over Thane Icewind's activity. The thane was known to be asking a lot of questions following an attempted murder of an Imperial woman by a Forsworn in the public market. He had prevented it but now he seemed to be asking a lot of questions that had drawn the attention of the guards. Calder agreed with him they were charging into matters his thane may not have fully contemplated, but he was obliged to follow his thane's lead. Argis had strongly cautioned Icewind that most of the guards were loyal to the Silver-Bloods and that the Jarl rarely questioned the reasons anyone got sent to the mines. Revyn thanked him for trying to warn Icewind then had Argis relay to Nepos's servants that he would be pleased to accept the dinner invitation.

Revyn wished to go to the market. He wanted to look for himself the state of the Arnlief & Sons trading company to see if it was a company worth associating with. A Vigilant of Stendarr stopped him in front of a doorway, asking if he'd seen anyone leaving or entering the house. "It's abandoned and been abandoned for months," said Argis brusquely. Revyn, who had been studying the door and noting the subtle markings thereon, said, "Boethiah's warning is on this place. It is a ward against Molag Bal." He looked at the Vigilant who returned a hostile gaze. "Yes, I worship Daedra. But I'm not a fool to be so eager to rush into a place filled with the malice of the Lord of Domination. This may have been a hidden temple."

"I will cleanse this place of its evil," the Vigilant declared. "As I will cleanse all misguided followers of the Daedra."

"You are a fool on a fool's mission and may your god have the mercy that you deny. Good day. What was that place, Argis, do you know?" he asked as they walked away.

"Someone's house. Place used to be part of a school of some sort in the 3rd Era then got broke down to individual homes. Mage school I think. There may be old records. I don't know."

"I would like someone to keep an eye on the place and to watch for the Priest of Boethiah who laid that seal. I fear that Vigilant will soon grow so foolishly stupid and break the seal to enter. He is arrogant and by that weakness will Molag Bal break him."

They arrived at Arnlief & Sons. Contrary to the name, there was no Arnlief and there were no sons, just Arnlief's widow, Lisbet. Middle aged, pretty enough, but with a mouth that reeked of rotted things. Namira's rot, whispered his Ancestors. He got out of there. Argis grimaced with disgust when Revyn explained and commented, "So now we know why his body was never recovered. Proof?"

"No. Just what the spirits tell me."

"Huh. Guess I'll be buying supplies from someone else from now on."

When the time came Revyn knocked on Nepos's door. Servants escorted him in. Weariness and sadness seemed to be the Breton's companions. Anyone Revyn asked about him spoke well of Nepos and made comments on how much civic responsibility lay on the old man's shoulders.

They spoke lightly of the general business culture and possible investments in Markarth. The dinner itself was delicious. Afterwards, Revyn presented Nepos the gift he'd brought. "A gift is not necessary," said Nepos.

"Custom of my people, sera. A guest should always show appreciation for the host's hospitality in his tent. Do you not expend your resources to have me here? I do hope by this choice of gift I've shown proper consideration and respect."

"Ah." Nepos opened the box and lifted out one of the game pieces. He looked questioningly at Revyn.

"Chess," said Revyn. "A game of battle and strategy and patience. It originally comes from Cyrodiil and it became popular in Vivec City. I picked it up from some Imperial traders. Here, these are the rules of the game. Shall we game? I admit some presumptuousness here. My wife has told me about you and I chose this gift for you before I left Windhelm. I want a more accurate measure of you, you see, as you will have a chance to take mine."

"A sparring of wits and resolve, I see. Yes, let's game." Nepos studied the game instructions while Revyn set up the board. The style was Morrowind Almsivi with the King being Vivec, the Queen was Almalexia, the archcurates were Sotha-Sil. Dragons were the towers and Hands-of-Almalexia Ordinators were the warriors. Pawns were either crabs or guar. The board tiles were alternating squares of obsidian and sandstone. The pieces were intricately detailed gold and silver castings.

They agreed to use a sand-timer to force the pressure of a time-limit and so the next four hours were spent in silence and contemplation of each other's play.

What was Revyn learning? That right from the beginning Nepos had plans. "Watch your back," was what Revyn learned. "Side movements, shadow strikes."

They played to a draw and Nepos called for a particularly fine and expensive wine to celebrate the game. "That was surprisingly enjoyable," he said. "But when you leave, who shall I game with then?"

"Oh, just issue a general challenge at any Imperial barracks and you'll be surprised at how many crawl out from their bunkers eager to do battle or to give you directions to another player. There are even chess gamblers who like to bet on strategies used and how many moves it takes to win."

"Hm. But I suspect many would not give me as interesting first game as you have." Nepos reached across the board to pluck Revyn's queen from the board. He gave it keen attention as it lay in the palm of his hand. "Reckless and clumsy is the impression — until one realizes too late you care nothing for your safety." He set the golden queen back in her place.

There was a commotion at the door. Nepos frowned and stood up to see what was happening. He returned with Thane Icewind behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Icewind demanded of Revyn.

"Having a pleasant visit, my lord. You, however, do not look like you've had a pleasant evening."

"I was attacked by thugs hired by this one!" Icewind scowled at Nepos who had reseated himself and was sipping from his wine cup.

"I had orders from the Silver-Bloods to deal with a nuisance who was asking too many questions," said Nepos, looking at Revyn. Revyn stared back at him while ignoring Icewind's anger and loud declarations. He leaned forward and tapped the head of Nepos's silver king. "Not Silver-Blood," Revyn said. "The captive King." Something Nepos's eyes flickered.

Revyn stood up and confronted Icewind. "Calm down, my lord," he said firmly, getting in his face. "Ulfric had gotten enough bad reports about the Silver-Bloods. Their greed and other methods did not sit well with Stormcloak's honor and that was why he ordered me to observe and report back to him my findings. That is why Lytram is with me. He was among the plantation owners of Dres who blatantly traded and used slaves. He knows the signs of slavery, knows how the business may be run and how laws may be twisted to justify the practice, and he has easily recognized and documented the Silver-Blood methods. Now, please, wait for me at home and I will show you everything I've found."

"It isn't that simple, Revyn. The Reach King is alive and he —" he pointed at Nepos, "— plays both sides. Silver-Blood schemes and Forsworn attacks —"

"Why are you surprised?" Revyn demanded. "Did it never occur to you why so many Silver-Blood enemies and mine owners die to Forsworn attacks and how it is the Silver-Bloods have the paperwork proving themselves the owners by debt foreclosure? Thonar has their king in his prison. He believes he has a controlled assassin force that can take all the blame. Now, please, go home before the Forsworn here cut both our throats! I don't know your mission, Icewind, but I believe Ulfric has realized some truths when he sent a Dunmer to look into the Silver-Blood/Forsworn connection."

"And how would Ulfric conceive so foul an idea?"

"Thane, you know he was once captured and imprisoned by the Thalmor. How do you think they tried to use him once they found they had the heir of Windhelm in their hands? Just go home and think about it."

Now Icewind noticed the space and stances of the servants around the room, noticed that Nepos had a long poniard in hand and that the first thrust would be through Revyn's back. Then Revyn turned to face Nepos, ignoring the blade so close to his belly. "Allow me to offer you a two-for-one promotion, Nepos," he said, puzzling Icewind. "Free the pawn and I'll redeem both a new queen and your king."

"That's not part of the rules," said Nepos, smiling. He stared thoughtfully at Icewind who finally had the good sense to shut up and stand still.

"All right," said Nepos, sheathing his poniard. "Let him go," he said aloud. The Forsworn sheathed their weapons. One picked up a silver serving tray with desert offerings and brought it to the chess table and waited while a maid removed the chessboard and pieces to a side table. Icewind was escorted out.

"Another of your strange moves. Explain."

Revyn explained the situation of the new Sybil and his current dilemma. He explained the clues he and Lytram found that proved to them that Madanach was still alive and being held in Cidna Mine and yet still able to command his faithful although imprisoned. But until tonight Revyn hadn't been certain who was Madanach's "queen" or secondary commander. He proposed to help get Madanach out of the mine. In return, Madanach gets the girl released and brought to Markarth to fulfill her destiny. He would not guarantee the young new Sybil would take a Forsworn for her first ascension; all he could promise was to do his best to persuade the Priestesses to meet with Madanach after the escape. Anything beyond that, of course, would be Madanach's decision.

"We already have a plan for Madanach's escape. I don't think your help there is really needed," said Nepos. "But out of curiosity, how had you planned to help?"

"Well, for one, I know Icewind will soon be arrested with trumped-up charges. I'm sure there are many unsolved murders and the Silver-Bloods will be delighted to find the culprit is a known Stormcloak agitator. Madanach will then get an additional, truly excellent fighter on his side. He's berserker, as wild and hard to kill as a briarheart when the madness is on him. He is also fresh for the fight since weariness and hard mine labor has yet to sap his strength, which he will need because fighting through Nchuand-Zel is a deadly route. I saw rough maps in Calcelmo's museum of structures beneath the city. It is inevitable that if one digs deep enough one would find the Dwemer paths. I know he has more than what's on display. I propose a team composed of my men and volunteers from your side to go through another entrance, destroying the automatons as they go to meet Madanach. My young Companions are experienced in exploring Dwemer ruins — they've each had the opportunity of traveling with my wife through some ruins — so they know the typical traps that may be found down there.

"For what it's worth, Nepos, Little Nicky, the Imperial, he is Hircine's current champion. Ask your people near Karthwasten and they will tell you Hrokkibeg has blessed the boy. I would take it as a sign that Hircine wants Madanach free to again chase the dream of freedom."

When Revyn returned to Vlindrel Hall he found it a mess. The city guards had come to arrest Calder as they'd arrested his master who they accused of killing a local by the name of Eltrys. Argis was more furious that some of the thieving guards had stolen some his thane's weapons and armor as "evidence." Oh, he'd made a list of what was missing and he fully intended to go to the Jarl the next morning to demand the return of his thane's properties. Revyn nodded wearily and went to his bedroom to meditate before sleeping. Tomorrow was going to be another busy day.


	46. City of Stone, pt3

_A/N: just a reminder, in Skyrim, you're guilty until proven innocent and it's on you and your allies to prove innocence (or come up with a really good plan to bust you out)._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

CITY OF STONE — Copper for the Craftsman

"Why do you need maps of underground Markarth?" asked Calcelmo.

"My wife has concerns about the Nchuand-Zel automatic defenses. I believe she's mentioned Blackreach to you?"

"Gods yes! Going there would be the dream of a lifetime," said the researcher fervently.

"Mm. Well, she's only explored a small part and she feels having a better understanding of Nchuand-Zel's more advanced systems would be helpful," said Revyn. His wife was never so cautious, but she made for a convenient excuse. As Calcelmo escorted Revyn to his quarters and private research area, Revyn inquired how his courtship of Faleen was going, smiling indulgently as the Altmer went into another adoring rapture about the Redguard warrior. Even advised him on some modifications to the strategies the Nord thug/bard, Yngvar, supplied him to court the Jarl's housecarl. Calcelmo, after all, was an Altmer with certain cultural sensibilities, and it would not be good in the long run for Faleen to be taken unawares by these differences once the initial courtship was over. Calcelmo needed to be clear with Yngvar about what Altmer courtship rituals had to be observed so that future advice was better tailored.

Calcelmo trusted him enough to leave him alone with the maps and with plenty of blank parchments and inks within convenient reach. Ah, there. It had taken an hour to sift through the sketches to find one that traced a route from the Cidna Mine area to, hah, the Hall of the Dead. That was the clearest route. There were two others that exited outside the walls, but those were partially collapsed and would require days of careful digging under deadly conditions.

He made his copy then descended the steps to the Hag's Cure to visit Bothela. He paused at the door that went into the Hall of the Dead, being careful to check the area for possible observers. The lock was a good one, not master-level, but also not beyond his ability to pick.

The Hag's cure. Revyn found himself charmed by the hagraven gimmick the proprietor used to promote and sell her wares. He recalled she'd bought two dozen herbal wreaths from him some years ago. She had since then created her own with a unique spin. Dream catching wreaths. Sweet, floral herbs with relaxing, soothing scents then in the center a network of silk or thin leather cords. Some ornamented with beads or feathers or both. "Dreamcatchers" she called them, to catch bad dreams. Revyn suggested she actually add some charms (such symbols that he drew on a parchment for her to be drawn or carved onto beads or bone) that specifically warded sleepers from influence by Vaermina and further suggested owl feathers rather than raven feathers, explaining owls were for an old Atmoran spirit of wisdom rather than the the ravens of Nocturnal. Bothela knew herbs, but her knowledge of Daedric charms could be better. He also recommended a variation of the web weave, such as leaving out a true web's convergence. "An open net to let the good pass," he said, "not a spiderweb that traps everything bad and good. I know Mephala is not one of your primary influences in the Reach, but best not tempt the Webspinner to investigate."

He gave her a small, fat purse and an order for restoratives, as many as could be produced by tomorrow evening. With a rueful smile he chatted about how the higher lands of the Reach drained his stamina quickly and the climb to Vlindrel Hall or to the Keep was embarrassingly exhausting. His age and decades living at sea level, sad to say, but mostly age because his young guards were adapting quite quickly. Bothela commiserated with him about the frailties of age. He made comments about hard wisdom that could only be learned with time and soon was in a discussion of her youth in Markarth and the young grandson taken away to Cidna Mine and "safety-tax" payments the Silver-Bloods collected. He studied her face as she talked, taking note of the stretched and scarred flesh beneath the heavy Forsworn paint. There were ornamental scars and then there were scars. "Um, and lest I forget, no shop seal on your potions. I may be passing some of them onto others to make their mark on. Before you close for the night, just set them in a bag outside your door before you lock it tight. It will be collected before anyone can steal it. Consider it your last safety-tax payment," he added softly.

For a moment she looked like the hagraven she pretended to be. "Tomorrow evening then," she agreed.

Before he left he called to Bothela's assistant who had been quietly working in an alchemy alcove steps above the main sales floor. "Oh, Muir? Yes, I remember you. Sadri from Sadri's Used Wares. If you haven't heard the happy news, Alain Dufont is dead. Thane Icewind crushed his bones with Aegisbane. I know it doesn't make up for the Shatter-Shields' betrayal, but have that at least. Good day, ladies."

He went lower to the forge where the Orc smith, Ghorza, labored and asked her if she'd ever heard of stahlrim and would she be interested in trying her hand at shaping it? She had and she was. He told her some samples would be coming in tomorrow and when they did he'd bring them to her brother's shop in the palace along with some finished examples that they could examine.

Back topside to the Underkeep entrance where he met Argis coming out. Jarl Igmund, Argis icily reported to Revyn, was, of course, aghast at these events and would demand full details from his guards. The misappropriated property would be returned; however, until evidence contrary to the investigation could be provided, Icewind would have to remain in Cidna until matters were cleared. A message would be immediately sent to Jarl Ulfric, of course, who would have the option of paying for his thane's freedom.

"I think Thane Icewind would have no problem being declared an escaped criminal in Markarth, would you agree?" Revyn asked Argis. The housecarl laughed and held out a thin scroll.

"The Jarl's written permission to go to Cidna Mine; for me to collect the stolen property from their evidence chest and for you to visit with the thane."

"Very good. And afterwards . . ."

"Afterwards I am to go to the treasury and reserve a vault for the silver from Sanaurach to be stored because Ainethach has worries about increased Forsworn activity. Thonar will see that the guards do not interfere with the wagons and miners coming in from Sanaurach. After delivery, the miners will set up camp where the Khajiit's normally rest. Some will come later for a little party at the Silver-Blood inn and leave when they've gotten drunk enough. The entrance, sir?"

"Hall of the Dead. The doors above the Hag's Cure." He passed the map copy of the Dwemer tunnel to him to be later delivered to the "miners." Argis studied the map then sighed heavily.

"Feeling like a traitor, Argis?" said Revyn.

"My father came with Ulfric's forces to retake the city for Jarl Hrolfdir. I've lived all my life with the threat of the Forsworn; between the Temple of Talos and the presence of the Dominion. And now I'm working to free Madanach."

"Did you approve of the slaughter Ulfric brought upon all within the city who failed to kneel? When he looked away when the tortured were made to give up the names of their kin or give false evidence against those accused of resisting? When he declared them all traitors and put even the children to the sword? As many who came here praising Talos there are seven times as many out there cursing this new god."

"Not so," Argis said. "The battles were bloody, 'tis true, but much of the slaughter afterwards may be laid upon Jarl Hrolfdir's head. And the Silver-Bloods led the nobles in rooting out Reach sympathizers."

"And as evil as it was, Ulfric was here and did not stop them or object to what they did in Talos's name so long as it was against non-Nords. It makes him complicit. And there were Nords likewise persecuted, tortured, and executed when he left. Nord who had blood ties to the Reach or who persisted in their friendship and support of Reachfolk.

"Now, Madanach is not innocent of blood either. Since his capture, a lot of blood has been spilled by his orders. Yet before this, Madanach had achieved what no other chieftain has since the Despot of Markarth during the Interregnum or Durcorach the Black Drake, the first Reachman to become Emperor of Cyrodiil. Madanach united the Reach and he ruled Markarth in peace for two years before the Stormcloak used the Thu'um to blow open his city. Like he would do again in Solitude and launch this civil war that is tearing Skyrim apart." Revyn sighed heavily also as Argis had.

"But, I understand. And I sometimes feel as much a traitor to my people as you. You cannot imagine how much the Dunmer hate Ulfric. It is still in our history the name of Ysmir and the horrors the Tongues visited upon Morrowind thousands of years ago."

"Then how can you serve Ulfric?"

"He offered me the chance to change things for my people. I couldn't turn that down. He offered a stake in Skyrim's future. I began to hope. As much as we hate Ulfric, we remember and respect his ancestor, Jorunn the Skald King, who stood with us against the Akaviri Demons. And of late, I am beginning to think Ulfric may have the abilities to lead an independent Skyrim. That is, if he can heal himself of the hatred and the scars the Thalmor inflicted on his spirit as well as his body," said Revyn, then more softly, "If he can't, the truth of what he's become will drive him to madness and he'll probably fall on his sword when despair overtakes him."

"What?"

"Without a chance, unacknowledged truth will become poisons driving the sword of despair that slays him."

Cidna Mine. Argis presented the Jarl's writ. A guard took him to the evidence room and Revyn was brought to a table near a cell, pointed to a chair, and told to wait. Icewind was escorted in and shoved into the cell. Multiple bruises and minor cuts. He was furious, of course, but there were no signs that a berserker was ready to emerge.

"I congratulate you on your control, my lord," said Revyn.

"I am not an animal," Icewind snarled. He sat on the single stool in the cell. Revyn stood up to move his chair closer but a guard told him to remain where he was. He was not get within arm's length of the bars. So. They would have to talk loudly at each other so that the guards could hear. "What are you doing to get me out?"

"I sent Argis to protest last night's actions to the Jarl. I thought since they were more familiar with Argis as my wife's housecarl, and being a Nord, that his words would have more weight. I, in the meantime, have been talking to Nepos who has been handling Eltrys's affairs and talking to Eltrys's widow who is the lead bank clerk at the Treasury. She has already given a statement to Nepos — who the Jarl is relying on, via the Silver-Bloods, to find the truth of matters — that she did not believe you held any animosity towards her husband, nor had her husband spoken of any concern or fear of you. He told her that he was earning some extra coin as your guide around the city."

Icewind grunted with a twitch of lips that might have been a smile.

"According to Argis, the Jarl is greatly upset that a Thane of Windhelm would murder in his city and has demanded the guards present their evidence. He is also displeased with the guards, on a side matter, of accidentally, if over-enthusiastically, in the performance of their duties, taking several items that belonged to my wife in the mistaken belief the items were evidence. Argis is in the evidence room even now taking back my wife's possessions.

"As for your release, sadly, until I can provide evidence of your innocence that disproves the crimes of being a Forsworn sympathizer, interfering with the Jarl's justice in Forsworn matters, and conspiring with a seditionist . . ."

"There was no sedition!"

'. . . and a number of murders you arranged through Eltrys of various spies of the Empire and the Dominion, and which eventually included Eltrys because he was proving unstable and losing courage to continue carrying out your plans. You will have to remain here."

"There—"

Revyn interrupted, "So you say, my lord, but Eltrys is dead and he cannot prove his innocence. However, Jarl Igmund is sending word of this matter to Jarl Ulfric, invoking Stendarr's mercy, with the option of him to place a guarantee of your behavior . . ."

"I'm being ransomed you mean. That . . ."

". . . the monies which I will pay as soon as I have Jarl Ulfric's writ authorizing me to act as his agent in that regard. In fact, my portion of Karthwasten's latest shipment will be delivered to the Markarth Treasury in anticipation of paying your release. Tomorrow evening at the latest. Jarl Ulfric's reply, however, may take a few more days."

"Do you want to know what happened that night?"

"You know better," said Revyn. They both looked at the guard who smirked back.

"At least get Calder out. He can help you."

"Actually, I would rather he remain with you. I cannot imagine the Thane of Windhelm, is a popular addition to the prison population. Someone should be there to watch your back while you swing a pick." Revyn smirked a bit and Icewind made a rude sign. "For now, I recommend further patience and cooperation. We have our disagreements, my lord, but as I hope we've learned at the Dwemer city of Raldbthar, cooperation will only benefit both parties and that there's more than one way out of a Dwemer ruin."

"I hate politics," Icewind declared. "I hate the snakes and their twisty words. And I really hate you right now. All right. I trust my Jarl knew what he was doing when he fielded an ashviper. Now if that's all, I have to get back there and make the stinking quota for a cup of stale gruel."

"Have faith, my lord, and see you at the other side."

Revyn spent the rest of the day making himself quite visible. Everybody in the market knew the Dunmer was asking questions to try to find evidence that proved the Windhelm thane was innocent of murder. People shook their heads, took his coin, and gave out such bits that would not implicate them nor draw Silver-Blood ire.

"You've been making Thonar very happy," said Nepos, smiling as he welcomed Revyn into his home. Revyn grinned and gave him the book _Grandmaster Chess_ by an Imperial Grandmaster named Piscatore.

"That was my intent. Is he happy with me running about asking questions?"

"As I said, very happy. He intends to charge outrageous fees for storing Karthwasten silver, charges for recent expenditures of extra patrols around Karthwasten for protection from the Forsworn. Possible penalties for trading silver with that new Dunmer merchant caravan without first registering such silver properly with Markarth's tax authorities. Penalties and trade taxes for the caravan who have yet to secure a license to trade in our domain. All sorts of suffrage payments demanded on behalf of Eltrys's family. And even wring, perhaps, some small reward for discreetly overseeing the safety of a certain Dunmer steward of Windhelm who is recklessly poking his head in places it has no right to be."

"Oh, Mephala bless his greedy heart. Then it has been a productive day." They settled comfortably for drinks while servants set the table for dinner.

"What are your impressions of Icewind?" he asked Nepos.

"A formidable spirit as you warned. He is not happy but he appears willing to cooperate. The more obvious traitors in the mine have been silenced and pickaxes are being sharpened." Nepos smiled broadly. "That is an arrogant young man. He claims his youth and strength makes him the fittest to lead the charge. He presumes to order the others on how best to guard their king. Calder has been useful in advising on how to recognize and react should Icewind enter a berserker state.

"My king is further pleased to hear of your Hircine-blessed kinsman who leads the rescue. As for young Fjotra, we cannot guarantee the briarheart will heed the king's call to service or that Petra will cooperate. If they do not, he will be the one to take the knife to them for defiance of his will and Karthwasten will be held innocent of this."

Dinner was served, a large, lovely silver fish taken from the pure lakes high in the Reach, not the garbage, bottom feeding carp of the rivers running through Markarth. The fish was roasted on a cedar plank that imparted a spicy smoke flavor, a side of roasted vegetables, juniper berry flavored mead, and dense sticky rolls covered in floral honey harvested from wild hives.

Revyn was happy to play another game of chess and to play a more sensible strategy. A couple servants stood by to watch the game. Revyn managed to win this time and explained the winning gambit. They went to sit by the fire with more wine and the servants watching the game now settled at the board to play their own.

Revyn asked about the abandoned house the Vigilant of Stendarr was accosting people over. It was a former school of magic, said Nepos. That whole block used to be the Imperial College of the Voice, set up by Tiber Septim. A school to return the Voice to the "ancient and honorable art of war." Many Reachfolk died when practitioners went afield to "study" the effectiveness of their Shouts.

"If we'd known of this treachery the ALMSIVI would have lost all respect and all followers!" said Revyn, enraged. "Gods! So many of our noble class and leaders suicided to protest our Gods' submission to the Empire. Most of them from House Indoril, Nerevar's own House and Clan. Yet even after the ALMSIVI gave him the Numidium that wasn't enough for Tiber Septim?" Nepos asked that he explain the outrage and so Revyn told him the history of the Nord invasion of Resdayn; how the Tongues used the thu'um mercilessly and indiscriminately to slaughter Chimer villages and shatter the doors and walls of Dwemer cities until Lord Indoril Nerevar worked out a treaty with the Dwemer. Coincidentally, in the tentative peace afterwards, Dwemer Clan Rourken who disagreed with the treaty's continuation, is said to have thrown his clan's warhammer and followed it west to what became Hammerfell, and the Rourken clan was also the ones who built Nchuand-Zel and most the Dwemer cities in the west.

And Markarth of all places. On one hand, it was logical as the farthest place from the newly pacified Morrowind and far from High Hrothgar. On the shit hand, Markarth had been a center for the Worm Cult. Use the thu'um used for conquest and domination? Of course Molag Bal would take note and do everything to seduce and twist the souls of these voices to be his chorus of destruction. It was no wonder the Reach turned to Boethiah, Molag's enemy, to help them destroy the school.

Revyn recommended they turn that whole block to slag or, barring that possibility, find the priest of Boethiah who had been cursing the shrine and get him to accept help. Revyn had Volundrung, Malacath's hammer, The Original Hammer of Clan Rourken and Hammerfell, at his wife's home on Solstheim. It wasn't the Scourge, but Volundrung would surely be effective in destroying Molag Bal's unholy altar and he'd be happy to lend it. Nepos agreed to have people watch for the old priest. He was known to wander about the Reach. He gave Revyn pen and parchment to write a letter to the priest. Revyn did so, keeping it short. Merely introducing himself, telling him that if the priest needed help in destroying the Shrine, the Thane of Markarth was also the Champion of Malacath and could bring Volundrung to assist. Or, if she was unavailable, Revyn would send the Champion of Hircine with the Hammer. Either way, that shrine needed to be finally gone.

"Champions of the Old Ones. Impressive," said Nepos, eyebrows arching. "And they come to your call?"

"Well, my wife, if she's not too busy. And Nicky is her cousin from her father's side."

"And you, who do you worship?"

"The Original Three of the Chimer of course. Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala. I prefer Azura of the three, but at the moment she is neutral to Molag Bal unlike the other two who are in active opposition."

"Your wife worships the same then?"

"Hah. No. She was raised Imperial. She reveres Zenithar and then Akatosh. Although of late we've gotten fond of an old god named Jhunal. She only became Azura's Champion because of me. Boethiah annoys her and neither does she favor Mephala."

"And what does she think of Talos?"

"Same as I. Tiber Septim was a man. Not a god. There are not many ways a god comes into being. One is to be born that way; one can steal godhood like the ALMSIVI stole their godhood from Lorkhan's Heart; or one can be mantled by a god. If this Talos is a mantled god, the question will ever be, which god?" he laughed. "Who knows. Perhaps it is a fractured piece of Lorkhan himself. And in that case, the war drum of Sovngarde is the beat of the Doom-Drum. And if that is Lorkhan, he rules no place in either Aetherius or Oblivion. This world is all he has. A chess game, Nepos. Think of it. He commands the center of the board."

"If he has no place in either Aetherius or Oblivion, then what is Sovngarde?" asked Nepos, amused.

"Don't know. Haven't asked. A floating island between Oblvion and Aetherius for all I'd care to hazard, with some anchor point tethering it to Mundus But the fact that Talos worshippers and Shor's faithful actually have access upon death means that Talos, whatever, whoever he might be, has actual godhood from a true mantling."

"Ah, but we in the Reach spit on Talos as stolen godhood and we do not acknowledge Man's Shor or Elven Lorkhan," said Nepos, shrugging and smiling. "So you are for the Daedra and your wife follows which Divinity?"

"Zenithar first and then Akatosh. I should set up an altar to Zenithar; it would appease her ancestors greatly," he mused aloud with a smile. "The True Tribunal has ever been how to survive. Philosophies for war, not peace. The religion of Z'en is quite in line with my philosophies of how to live life. And, now to think on it, I have been quite lax in that duty. I know my wife and her kin follow his precepts quite closely. I'll see to it right away when I get home."

+—+—+—+—+—+

He was with Tacitus, Ghorza, and her brother, Moth, in Moth's force in Understone Keep, watching Moth carefully draw out a piece of stahlrim into a flat bar, the initial step of shaping it into a dagger. Ghorza was carefully comparing the strike marks on a stahlrim dagger to an ebony dagger. Tacitus hung over her shoulder, trying to see what she was seeing.

"Now what power there is in the ice that keeps it from being destroyed by the forge fire," Revyn was saying, "my wife hasn't found out and, frankly, the master smith of the Skaal, doesn't know either. Just knows 'what works and what doesn't,' as he puts it."

"Some kind of Merethic or creation-of-the-world magic," muttered Moth. "Like the unmelting snows from the Throat-of-the-Word that your wife threw there," he pointed to the snowball sitting right in the middle of the forge and snorted with laughter. "And you say the old Atmorans of Solstheim used this to bury their dead in?"

"Mm-hm. The biggest deposit, my wife tells me, is an open barrow of dozens of coffins. She says after every major snowfall, the ice just rebuilds over the coffins and becomes stahlrim."

"Mining a tomb, eh? That's just cold."

They all looked towards the door as they heard yelling and saw soldiers running. One soldier dashed in, grabbed a pike. Ghorza leaped to grab him. "What's going on? You paying for that?"

"I'll bring it back. It's an emergency!" the soldier roared. "Forsworn in the city! Overrunning the forge, the mine, and heading towards the market."

"My forge!" Ghorza bellowed, furious.

"Stay!" cried Revyn, bolting to her and grasping an arm to arrest her from following the soldier running away with the pike. But she being and Orc and a smith, he was practically sitting on the floor trying to slow her down. "The Forsworn won't do anything to your forge. Maybe take a few bars of iron or steel. What of it? More than likely they want to cut some mine guards' throats. Stay."

"Stay," echoed Moth, taking hold of her other arm, finally bringing her to a stop. "No need to get yourself killed in this. Let the guards earn their pay. We deal in copper, bronze, brass, and iron, sister. If the Forsworn are escaping Cidna, it's Silver blood they want."


	47. City of Stone, pt4

_L0rkhan:_

 _Oops. You're right. I did forget that Ascension method. How could I forget the power-up, triune "OM/OHM/AUM" factor/aspect of eastern religions with all images of Vivec in that Buddha's pose? (The netch pissed on the roof. Hurry high, chaos butterfly. Ashclouds overhead. I know why cliff racers cry. CHIM. Heaven. — sorry, Moody Blues, OM/In Search of the Lost Chord)_

 _However Vivec promoted it, fact is he didn't_ _achieve_ _godhood by that method.  
_

 _The Divines really don't share the names of their realms do they? So far, the named are Sovngarde (Nords), Mantella Crux (artificial), Sands Behind the Stars (Khajiit), and The Far Shores (Yokudan). Everyone else? An Aetherial general drop box from which souls and prayers are distributed daily._

 _The only other known "fallen" Divines are Meridia and her plane of the Colored Rooms and Trinimac/Malacath and his Ashpit._

 _Any road, I consider Sovngarde the borderland between Aetherius and Oblivion, fitting for an entity the world still fights over if he, Shor, is the fallen chief of the gods or Lorkhan, mad mutant of Sithis._

 _A/N:_

 _* Reran an old saved Markarth game and found the exit door of the ruins was actually next door to the Hall of the Dead's back door. I'm letting the error stand. If a Reach king has to come crawling out of a tomb, better Madanach than Red Eagle._

* Non-TES Lore goddess : Artio, Celtic goddess, the She-Bear (Ursel or St. Ursula, tamed-down christianized version) (do I hear a certain Rift hunter ranting about civilized milquetoast gods?)

* Another lengthy, thread-knotting chapter. Not altogether happy about some points (theology is so very messy for me), but decided to push it out anyway because it was blocking the road and other ideas were honking behind.

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

CITY OF STONE — Iron, Cold Iron

"That is unexpected," said Revyn.

Standing in front of the door of Vlindrel Hall with Argis, they watched the Imperial army marching from the gates of Markarth towards Understone Keep. To the forefront of the riders was the flag of the Emperor.

"What an embarrassment for the Jarl," said Argis. "Cidna Mine broke open and Madanach free in the Reach and no time to clear all the bodies and wash off the blood yet."

"Oh, dear." Revyn sighed and rubbed his head where he felt a headache coming on. "I wasn't sure if the Penitus Oculatus would actually permit him to come here with all the uncertainty of the Reach. If you can get to the stables, Argis, get our horses ready. I'll see if Mother Hamal is willing to come with us now. If we're lucky, we can get out of here without being noticed."

"'Without being noticed.' Does that mean, sir, that you expect someone to come looking for you?"

"The Emperor."

"Why would he be looking for you here?" Of all his wife's housecarls, Argis was the one who asked the most questions. Revyn had spent a lot of time arranging her other housecarls to do business for him in the Reach and to stay at Vlindrel with the underlying mission of judging the man's trustworthiness. He hadn't thought it wasteful efforts considering how much of the Markarth Guards the Silver-Bloods had owned, or how many Forsworn spies were active in the city, or that Argis, as a city guardsman, had lost his eye defending Thonar Silver-Blood from an attack. The Nord had been judged trustworthy by the other housecarls so Revyn didn't mind the questions.

"By now he knows my wife is Thane here. He's bound to ask and someone's bound to mention my name. Your thane's late father was the Emperor's friend and confidant. He knows the Felix family can't help but meddle wherever they go. He also knows my wife is the Dragonborn. I've also had the honor of meeting with the Emperor when he started this tour in Solitude and he's very well aware of all the work I do while hiding in my wife's shadow."

"I see now. Thank you, sir, for explaining."

Unfortunately, with the Emperor's arrival the city gates were shut until further notice. When Revyn dejectedly returned to Vlindrel Hall there was a Penitus Oculatus soldier waiting there with a summons for Revyn to attend tonight's welcoming feast for the Emperor. An escort would come at the appropriate time to get him to Understone Keep.

Understone was also on lockdown so no visiting with Calcelmo. Ghorza was not at her forge so she was locked in at the Keep with her brother, Moth. The Hag's Cure was open but people wanting to go there had to thread past crimson and gold Penitus Oculatus soldiers. And there were Imperial troops investigating both the Hall of the Dead and Cidna Mine.

He was surprised to find Justiciar Ondolemar in The Hag's Cure buying powders for a headache. Mindful of Nicky's admonishment about starting fights with the Thalmor, Revyn said nothing to him and slipped into the alchemy alcove to keep out of sight. However, one of Ondolemar's guards sidled into the alcove as well, the seemingly friendly female of the Justiciar's two shadows.

She gave him a wide smile. That was a level of threat he didn't expect from a Thalmor. "I'm not here to fight with him if that's what you're worried about," Revyn said cautiously. She didn't immediately reply but dumped a fistful of sand in a semicircle around the entrance of the alcove and traced a spell in it with her foot. Sounds from the other room faded to near nothing.

"A friendly warning," she said. She had a sweet voice, friendly, a touch playful. "Thanks to the Volkihar matter you've exceeded your wife in the Thalmor's interest. Anyone who can extract the defense secrets of a vampire lord is of greater concern than an uncontrolled, meddlesome Felix prodigy. Be aware you are now most carefully watched and all your associates noted."

"Who are you? Why are you telling me this?"

Her smile widened and she sidled uncomfortably close to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and bending down to murmur into his ear. "Everyone knows the Thalmor did their best to subjugate all the old bloodlines and purge the tainted ones and those still loyal to their impure, dethroned, and exiled half-Dunmer cousins." She set down a ring on the alchemy table between them. "A little token. This ring is said to have first belonged to General Symmachus. He gave it to Queen Barenziah when he pledged himself to her and she gave it to her daughter, Morgiah, when our High Kinlord Reman Karoodil of Firsthold signed the marriage contracts to remind her that though her father was of peasant stock, he was a warrior and he never accepted defeat. My cousins, Rinnala and Goranthir, have entrusted me with this ring to deliver to the children of the Black Queen's brother with an entreaty for rememberance and for aid.

"Don't try to contact me. I'll get back to you when I can." She slipped out of the alcove and continued pacing the edge of the room as if looking for hidden secrets.

The ring was a simple, polished steel band with a shield-shaped plate embossed with the Imperial Dragon. He picked up the ring using a glass stirrer from the alchemy tools and dropped the ring into his coin pouch after he'd emptied its contents into his coat pocket. He was going to have the ring looked over for any tracking or other unwanted spells.

But . . . A Firsthold cousin? A member of a deposed royal Altmer family masquerading as a common guard? What was going on in Summerset?

The Thalmor left and Bothela came around the counter to him and watched while he swept up the sand. "So sorry. A little clumsy over here," he said.

"Hm. By the look on your face I'd say she was either delivering bad news or she was flirting with you." Revyn laughed weakly. She sighed and leaned heavily against a wall. "I heard my grandson, my Odvar calling through my door last night. All these years in Cidna Mine. He said he loved me. Told me to keep the door locked." She wiped her eyes. "Look at me. I thought I didn't have any left."

Revyn hugged her saying, "Tough and determined. Take heart in that. Madanach let the weak ones die and killed the fools." They talked over tea. She knew which of her customers were Forsworn agents so she was certain she'd be able to communicate with Odvar eventually.

After that he went to the Markarth Treasury. That too had a lot of Penitus Oculatus and other Imperial officials bustling about. The Treasury was officially closed. Not only were all the Silver-Bloods dead but most of the servants there had been Forsworn. None of the contents of the Treasury or the records had been disturbed or taken. Killing the Silver-Bloods had been the only goal. The only two alive from the slaughter was Eltrys's wife who had been at her home in the Warrens and still sick from the murder of her husband, and Yngvar, who had been at Understone Keep consulting with the court wizard about future exploration of Nchuand-Zel for silver deposits.

Lingering outside of the Treasury had been the precious metals buyer from East Empire Trading Company. When Revyn had gotten his silent partnership in the Sanaurach Mine as a wedding present from his wife part of the deal was to help Ainethach find buyers for the silver. Any other reliable buyer was better than being forced to sell only to the Silver-Bloods at prices they set, so Revyn had managed it with the help of Orthos, the EETC agent in Windhelm. The EETC silver buyer and his small, well-trained troop came directly from Cyrodiil. They weighed and did all the calculations, paid Ainethach and Revyn according to Imperial rates for silver, then extracted Imperial taxes and Markarth's taxes per Markarth's official published tax rates. The agent also was the one who delivered and represented Sanuarach's and Fenn's Gully's taxes to the Treasury so that Ainethach did not have to deal with Thonar. Revyn invited the agent to Vlindrel Hall for a light afternoon meal, some wine, and to talk about the future of Karthwasten in light of the upcoming troubles in the Reach.

+—+—+—+—+—+

Dinner with the Emperor; the real one, not the impersonator. This he knew by the bonemold ring the Emperor wore. No doubt the impersonator wore an ivory ring to keep up the pretense but the Emperor's bonemold ring had been created from the bone dust of Revyn's father-in-law and infused with a touch of the man's soul. Revyn wasn't pleased to find himself seated at the high table with the Emperor along with the Jarl, Steward Raerek, First Emissary Elenwen, Chief Justiciar Ondolemar, and a few more high-ranked guests. To his utter dismay the Emperor focused unwanted attention on him by insisting on complimenting him over the recent vampire battles and his actions to rally even the Stormcloaks to Skyrim's defense. But it was his uncanny ability to steal the secrets of the vampires' defenses that was marveled over, especially by General Faro's detractors given to unwholesome speculation of why the General's son-in-law, a mer of scandalously advanced years, was an official in the court of a rebel jarl.

By the looks he was getting from the Thalmor, Revyn knew he couldn't return to the safety of Windhelm fast enough.

Then Elder Councilor Amaund Motierre, still under the illusion Revyn was his ally since their meeting in Solitude, went on about Tel Windstad, praising the uniqueness and wealth of the Telvanni mushroom village under Revyn's guidance and the prosperity it was bringing to Morthal, historically the poorest of Holds. He made a dig at Jarl Igmund about not being able to fully utilize the husband of Thane Faro. Maybe then Markarth could finally stand on its own without the crutch of Imperial forces.

The Emperor managed to smooth over the poorly veiled insult in a way that stopped the Jarl from leaping across the table to strangle the Elder Counselor. He was also able to give reassurances of the importance of the Reach without actually committing to any future action.

Revyn firmly demurred, stating that he was happy where he was in Windhelm and with his own people, the Dunmer.

"I cannot see how one can be happy living in the shadow of that traitor," said Elenwen. "Ulfric above all would see all non-Nords driven from the land by sword. What _compromises_ you must, mm, negotiated to have peace, even to thrive under his rule, Steward Sadri. But then, House Hlaalu was always the most, ah, forward-thinking and congenial of your kind. So eager to recognize and adapt to superior forms of . . . social organization."

Revyn smiled, showing teeth. "A little social experiment never hurts and many times benefits both parties by easing the opening stages of exchange. If I have to eat hákari during business dinners to get import taxes lifted on scrib jelly and kwama egg shipments, then pass the rotted shark steak back here. But then, of course, your Excellency would have nothing so, um, flavorful served to her guests. Indeed, I've heard the feast and entertainment offered at the most esteemed Emissary's own table is the best in Skyrim."

The Emperor chuckled.

"Well, I suppose one cannot argue with your many successful ventures," the First Emissary said through gritted teeth. "The Dominion keeps a close watch on all promising avenues. We offer many opportunities and advantages."

"Oh, well, there is one wish the Dominion could grant me."

"Ah. And what would that be?"

"Stop trying to kill my wife."

Revyn rudely reached across Ondolemar, knocking the Chief Justiciar's hand so that the powders he was tryng to add to his own wineglass were instead scattered across his plate, and pulled the serving plate of snowberry glazed venison closer and sliced a thick steak from it. He then locked gazes with the First Emissary as he chewed on the steak, daring her to say anything about his wife, to deny or to justify aloud and before this audience the Dominion's actions.

Oh, yes, there were going to be repercussions.

+—+—+—+—+—+

It was three days before the city gates were unlocked to permit traffic, but only during daylight hours and there were double guards at the gates with constant patrols just inside and outside. Revyn and Argis escorted Mother Hamal and Senna to the stables where they saddled their horses.

Trade at Karthwasten was still brisk. People from other small villages, mines, and farms had come to Karthwasten, and now sprinkled among them were Legion soldiers.

And then there were the children. Quiet little shadows with haunted or empty eyes of the lost and the unwanted. Too many children in rags or lacking clothes at all. Bretons, Nords and mixes, even six little half mers of Altmer sires. Mother Hamal and Senna went immediately to the children's tents to talk to the caretakers there.

They rode to the edge of the hamlet and dismounted, handing their horses over to a lad minding the hastily built corral. Lytram was the first to come to them. Revyn could see the char marks of a Dwemer spider's lighting attack on his armor.

"Boys are all healthy," Lytram reported. "The girl has been claimed from Broken Redoubt but she won't be handed over until the Legionnaires are gone and you and he can talk. I've told him you're restricted to Karthwasten anytime you're outside of Markarth per your wife's orders. Your hagraven ladyfriends explained your wife to him as had Nicky so he's accepted that inconvenience for now. The boys were invited to stay a while longer with the Forsworn. Nicky is getting attention. This Champion of Hircine title of his. I've since learned Hircine is currently the dominant god of the Reach. He and Boethiah."

"Icewind and Calder?"

"Minor injuries."

"From the automatons or the Forsworn?"

Lytram laughed. "The thane got a little excited and took on two spheres and a ballista by himself. He is behaving himself in Madanach's camp, gathering information for Ulfric while they watch him and keep him from learning too much."

"Where did all these children . . ."

"Forsworn just started herding them in here," Lytram said, glancing back over at the groups, his expression indifferent. "Old Gods didn't need this many sacrifices and either we take 'em or they get driven off to die in the wilderness. Other Reachfolk bringing in orphans their farms or towns can't afford to support. Orphans for all the usual reasons in a frontier and war zone. They all seem to have found that the Uvayn bases itself in Ivarstead where the Geirmund's Honor Orphanage is. Usually the farm folk would bring them to Markarth and Markarth throws them across the border to the High Rock orphanages. But with the caravan eventually going back to Ivarstead . . ." he shrugged. "I'm told this is the first time the Forsworn even bothered to bring unwanted children in."

"Azura's mercy. There's no way they can expect to safely exit the Reach with this many children. I suppose we could run a courier to Ivarstead and have more Uvayns and Indorils come to help if the Forsworn will tolerate a large company of Dunmer wagons and armed fighters."

"Sera Falina is already addressing that problem and has sent two pigeons off yesterday. She's counting on you to talk to the hagravens or Madanach for safe passage.

"Best go see Ainethach now. His nerves are near breaking because the news of Madanach's escape hit hard and he's certain Karthwasten is not going to survive being in the middle of another battle over Markarth. A lot of folk around here are convinced of the same. Children were brought in this morning by parents who think that getting their children away to another Hold will give them a better chance of living than dying in the battles to come. Like that lot over there," he nodded towards the road and Revyn turned to see three adults and six children. The children were dressed for travel and each carried small bundles. A caravan guard met them, talked with them, and ushered them over towards Ysolda's wagon. A married couple with four children, the lone parent with two. Markarth guards, their uniforms torn and in need of repair, their expressions spoke of bitter, imminent loss. "There are whole families camped at Fenn's Gully hoping to flee under the caravan's protection to Morthal." Lytram pushed Revyn a bit impatiently towards Ainethach's house. "Get to work, sera."

"Nice guy," muttered Argis.

"I hired him as prison workforce overseer for his sense of efficiency and balance, not because he was 'nice,'" said Revyn. "Argis, while I talk to Ainethach you and Lytram go to wherever Madanach is camped and inform Nicky that the Emperor is here. He likely already knows that through Madanach's spies. Tell him to come back here. I'll need his help with Madanach who is probably wondering if he's facing another imminent Imperial invasion."

Ainethach had obviously not been sleeping well since Revyn last saw him. "Madanach's out and we're all dead," he declared as soon as he saw Revyn. "I only barely managed to retain the rights to my land after the Great War and Ulfric's invasion. Why do you think my children work as servants in the Jarl's keep? Ulfric wanted proof of submission that I wasn't going to side with the Forsworn. I gave them the surety he demanded. My children. But since I'm no noble, rather than pages or such they put my children to work in the kitchen and tending the Jarl's dogs. Jarl Hrolfdir was kind enough to make sure it was the kitchens of the Keep rather than the Silver-Blood household . . ." He sighed and took another swig of the clay jug containing juniper beer, a recent trade item from the Forsworn. "Jarl Igmund doesn't see the obligation. He sees Reach servants, not tokens of a promise. He'll find some way to justify taking what's left of Karthwasten and my mines from me, my partnership with you and Thane Faro notwithstanding. And that will be the final end of Karthwasten. Once the largest city in the Reach, now just a forgettable point on a map marking silver mines."

Revyn looked around for something a bit smoother to drink than juniper beer. He found it only mildly alcoholic, but it tasted too strongly of honey-covered juniper bark and not quite to his taste. He only saw one unopened bottle of Black Briar mead, all the rest were empty. Beer it was then.

"Well, there is Fjotra," Revyn offered. "Karthwasten producing the new Sybil grants blessings from the goddess. That may work in your favor," he tentatively offered.

"Hah. Normally, I would be ecstatic," said Ainethach dryly. "But Dibella is not a goddess of war. The grace of fertility and fortune on my land would only make it more attractive to its next owner. The blessing is to the land, not the people on it." He slumped forward, leaning heavily on his elbows while dragging the back of his non-cup holding hand across his face to wipe the tears on his cheeks. "I can't go through this again. I don't have my Jenetta to tell me the future will get better. We are miners and farmers here. For a few days there, Revyn, for a few days with the caravan and the neighboring Forsworn showing up without violence, I had hopes of Karthwasten becoming the trade hub the original city was centuries ago. It was nice to be able to dream again. But it's gone. The gods threw the lots again and we've tumbled short.

"You see them out there, Revyn? People are running. High Rock can't take any more of us. So now we must hope the war in Skyrim will be kinder to our children. Gods know there was very little done after the Nords and then the Empire took back the Reach from Madanach.

"Who are your gods?" asked Revyn softly.

"What?"

"You're right. This is going to a difficult situation. But you survived before because you were a town that didn't have a fighting force. The nearby Forsworn know you don't have fighters and they brought the unwanted children here because they know there's shelter here and you aren't going to turn them out, mixed blood or not. And neither my wife nor I will allow anyone in Markarth to take over on some legal technicality. Taxes may go up, but we'll manage. If Karthwasten becomes known as a safe haven for orphans in the Reach and not a military outpost, we may be able to get Madanach to declare this neutral ground. It may be that the silver will have to be sacrificed to carry the children and profits, if any, will be lean, but more than ever we need to promote this place as being where the new Sybil was found. We have to think of the future. Make sacrifices for the long term. Build a shrine here if we must. I know a mining camp is a strange place for one, but . . ." Revyn shrugged. ". . . Hircine himself found this area worthy a place to rest a while. He might let us get away with that if we're careful. Our own 'Bear' of the Reach. 'White Bear Orphanage?'" he murmured, staring off into some hazy, distant future while Ainethach gaped at him in disbelief.

"Start praying to the gods, Ainethach, that there's something left of the old Madanach before Cidna — the one who wanted to unite the Reach and secure its wealth for the natives. I'll be meeting with him soon to get back Fjotra."

He went immediately after to see Falina and Ysolda for their perspective. They were prepared to take some of the children, but they were waiting for experienced handlers from Geirmund Orphanage to come and evaluate the children. And they'd already thought of the possibility of setting up a small orphanage here but were waiting to bring the idea to him so that he could approach Ainethach with it and also persuade the nearby Forsworn hagravens.

+—+—+—+—+—+

They had gathered around a campfire in back of Falina's wagon. There was Revyn and Nicky. Arven and Athis stayed at Madanach's camp to keep an eye on Icewind and Calder. Lytram and Argis were here as Revyn's bodyguards because Nicky had, in Revyn's opinion, become a touch paranoid at being informed about this unknown Altmer "cousin" and then Revyn sparring off with First Emissary Elenwen during a public dinner. He had decided that Revyn was no longer to be trusted to stay out of trouble once he exited Vlindrel so Lytram and Argis were not to let him out of either of their sights. Ysolda, Falina, and their caravan quartermaster were present because of Karthwasten and the orphans and the decision of whether to truly add Karthwasten to their regular trade route after this test run. Ainethach of course. And Enmon because he was Fjotra's father and because he was Ainethach's foreman when it came to minework.

Ainethach had offered his house for this meeting but Revyn felt this was best held outdoors and under the stars. A strong whimsy. And there was such a feeling of peace tonight. Outside wasn't a secure place to discuss matters, no walls to block words and too many strangers wandering about Karthwasten, though this late in the evening the only others camped at Karthwasten were the EETC agent and guards who had arrived from Markarth just before evening. Ainethach would be busy with them tomorrow. But Falina's people were around them and wouldn't talk even if they overheard.

And then there were the last-minutes participants. Cloaked visitors approached their campfire. Revyn studied them a moment then said, "Good evening, Nepos. A surprise to see you here."

"Should you be, Revyn? You know I'd be curious to see which way my opposing king would jump this board."

"Is this a chess game, Nepos? I'm not familiar with a three-way board."

"The Emperor does not count if that is the third player whom you refer to. He has merely replaced the rooks, the knights, and your queen but you still command the army."

Nicky clapped loudly again. "Hey, enough flirting, guys. So you're Nepos, Madanach's top witchblade in hiding." Nicky moved to confront Nepos and he held his right hand out towards the Reachman. "Welcome. I'm Nicholas Faustus Felix. Just so you know I and my family have long-time personal and political loyalties to Titus Mede the Second. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to meet you. My cousin's husband here has Sheogorath's own luck when it comes to plots and we're all here plotting to save Karthwasten and the orphans of the Reach. Are you here to join us?" Nepos studied him intently then slowly raised his right hand towards Nicky. Nicky gripped Nepos's forearm in Nord fashion and gave it a firm squeeze before letting go. "Hey, Ysolda, love, some drinks for our friends here. Thanks. Here, let me make introductions." He did it briskly, then said, "Everybody that needs to be here is here, right? Good."

Nepos settled a spot at Revyn's right. His three guards crouched behind him, settling into stillness like guardian gargoyles. Ainethach, on Revyn's left, worked on not gaping rudely at Nepos as he worked out that the Silver-Blood's trusted right-hand man was Madanach's ultimate spy in Markarth.

Nicky remained standing while everyone else settled with drinks and snacks close at hand. Satisfied that everyone was now prepared to listen, he got right to the point. "It isn't good out there. Madanach's just barely holding onto power. Most of his people want an all-or-nothing attack on Markarth. They can see that the troops aren't a full legion. It won't take much for the warmongers to decide to shove him off as an old man turned coward after too many years caged as the Silver-Blood's pet killer. Unless he can show them he still has power, somebody's going to get stupid and attack the Emperor. Right now Madanach's busy justifying himself to a new generation that know nothing of him personally. They were raised on stories of his glory days while living in the aftermath of his defeat. His first campaign is to go to the different tribal hagravens, sorry, the Matriarchs, to justify again why they should support again his dream for a united Reach and why it must be him to lead."

"And too old to face the trials of the Nerevarine," said Revyn.

"Not quite the same, that," said Falina. "I can see where you're likening the scattered tribes of the Reach to tribes of the Velothi, but their pantheon of gods is a lot larger than our three, there seems to be little of any cooperation amongst them, and they dont' seem to be wholly Aedric or Daedric. And for an overarching hero legend . . ."

"The Legend of Red Eagle. First Era. They have a legend that he will rise again to rule the Reach or that he has indeed risen in other occasions to avenge some wrong," said Revyn. "He won't anymore. His sword is part of my wife's trophy collection. Not quite Trueflame. And when his draugr was put down that final time, the sword's nature changed from a general fire enchantment to undead repel and destruction. So we take it to mean he won't be allowed to return.

"The other part that I consider Madanach's problem is the very religion that sustains the Forsworn and their Briarhearts. The Hagravens are not Hircine's followers. The shapeshifting can be transferred by shared blood to even the most virtuous of men and mer whether they follow Hircine or not. But the path of hagraven is the path of the necromancer; by deliberate will and action and oaths. I don't recognize the gods or spirits that demand this."

"Um, Revyn, our own Daedra meddled in our creation to split us off from the Altmer," said Falina.

"And hence the creation of the Morag Tong, Mephala's herd cullers and game wardens whose original purpose was to cut out the monsters generated in our change and to take out undesirable traits. Ours was a controlled breeding. Vivec warped the purpose of the Tong when he convinced them to accept him to replace Mephala in their worship, and that eventually led to the schism of the Dark Brotherhood. The hag—"

"Hey, hey, back on track here," interrupted Nicky with two firm claps. "We're not talking breeding and we are certainly not talking about secretive cullings! Primary concern is can we save Karthwasten? I see the first question here as neutrality. We don't want the Jarl using Madanach's escape as an excuse to seize Karthwasten as his first step to secure his resources. We also need some agreement with the surrounding Forsworn not to take Karthwasten for the same reason like they've done at Kolskeggr Mine. The biggest disadvantage is the silver wealth. A slight advantage is that this location has no great strategic advantage to fight from. The proposition being considered is to make this the first official orphanage site for the Reach. If we propose to use the silver as the financial support base and present it to the Jarl that this new orphanage would not make any demands on Markarth's Treasury, he might let Karthwasten go as long as we promise none of the silver would go to the Forsworn.

"Now the Forsworn. How can we secure their promise to hold this place neutral? I see this as a problem of negotiating with the individual hagravens because I'm not yet certain how much influence Madanach has with them. That's where I see you coming in, Revyn. I'm betting it's your ashwitchy background and your connection with your ancestors and your Daedric gods they're reacting to."

"Two matriarchs are hardly proof of anything," Revyn said depreciatively. "And you've been smoking skooma if you think my wife will let me travel about the Reach to talk to hagravens, or that I'd even want to even for Karthwasten. Oh, Ainethach," he said, turning to the Reachman with a look of apology, "I'm not saying Karthwasten is not important to me, it is. But me attempting to talk to each tribal matriarch is not a workable solution. It is just luck that Esmerelda and Minuet were inclined that day to be generous."

"I didn't say that, Revyn," said Nicky, rolling his eyes with exasperation. "I don't want you trying to charm every matriarch in the Reach. I'm just saying you've got something the hag-, the matriarchs recognize and react to. Zenithar teaches you can judge a man by his works and you, my dear, overly modest cousin, I've watched you take down a god with the way you work the scales in your little back room deals. You do your gods and House Hlaalu proud."

"So, back to Madanach. Madanach has to get the support of the matriarchs. And if we're using Chimer references, remember that the Velothi were in a constant state of warfare amongst themselves because Boethiah likes her dogfights. Don't make me teach you your own history, people.

"And we're not talking the Chimer and Resdayn. This is the Reach and we're talking the wild kin of the Bretons. Madanach needs to prove to the young generation he still has both strength and power so that they don't do something massively stupid like attacking the Emperor while he's in Markarth. We are not going to get into clipping the talons of Hircine's harpies. All the Nerevarine's focus was on cutting the Heart of Lorkhan out of the picture. He didn't make it his campaign to attack the Temple or the gods."

"How would you know what the Nerevarine's purpose was?" challenged the caravan's quartermaster.

"'Cuz he told me, that's how," Nicky said snappishly. "Back to Madanach, please. Revyn, take over but just remember we're talking about the Reach, not Resdayn."

"Of course, Nicky. Thank you," Revyn said, spreading his hands and bowing his head slightly in appeasement. Inside, he was smiling. The boy had been growing a great deal these last couple of years in Skyrim and with the Companions. The young wolf was shedding the last of his fuzzy soft baby fur and was starting to push for leadership.

"One thing we can agree upon, I'm sure, is that Madanach cannot go the route of Red Eagle. By the tales of his own people, the day Red Eagle took the bargain a hagraven offered, he lost his humanity and became nothing more than a powerful killing machine and led his believers into battle. Battle after battle after battle. He eventually lost. The Reach doesn't need another hero like him."

"But, apologies, Nicky, we do have to find a way to blunt the influence of the matriarchs even as we attempt to win them over. We could try to approach this as a temporary truce under a Hortator — I know, I know, Reachmen, not Dunmer. Initial sell of Madanach as a war leader as a necessary evil in a time of conflict. And while he leads and the matriarchs and briarhearts are following his lead, we find ways to stabilize the grounds after him. Show that the rebuilding is now, not some distant, when-it's-all-done approach. Commerce and wealth is not the realm of the gods, not really that of kings either. It's a matter of favorable conditions and if we can show that such only happen when Madanach is in charge . . ." he shrugged. "I have ideas and none are without risks. Steep initial costs and long-term payoffs are, at present, unpredictable. I really won't know until I've had a chance to consult several parties. And I can't even begin to do that without some initial promises."

"Promises from us. Care to elaborate?" Nepos invited, his tone light and dry.

"Well, for one, I need to know what Madanach sees for his initial course of action. I need to have some idea how much influence Matriarchs Esmerelda and Minuet have. What their reaction will be if told that once a child is brought to the orphanage, the orphanage is not to be considered a stock pen for sacrificial ceremonies of any sort or for any matter; that for religious instruction their suggestions would be helpful, but ultimately they do not dictate what will be taught. How will they react if another tribe threatens Karthwasten? Will they, or do they, have the strength to tell that hostile tribe to go away? Will they ignore us and let the slaughter happen? Will they give what children make it to them temporary safe refuge?

"How will the Forsworn react to another military force in Karthwasten? Because if Geirmund's Honor gets involved, that also means the Indorils will be coming too.

"Indorils," he turned to Nepos and Ainethach to explain, "are a House or tribe of Dunmer who have a strong affinity towards the spiritual. The ones at Ivarstead were once a Tribunal force that guarded . . . Well, that doesn't matter now. They're in Skyrim and they've begotten a new generation of young who are eager to do something, but refuse to take sides in Skyrim's civil war. They'll likely refuse to take sides in the Reach war. And while they aren't as battle-hungry as Redorans, they won't back down from a fight. They may welcome the challenge of the Reach and would move out here to initially build and run the orphanage."

"That's a lot of silver, Revyn," said Ainethach, looking faint. "How could we sustain this? I can't even imagine . . ."

"Not something to discuss now, my friend, not until the questions of the matriarchs and Madanach are settled enough for financial planning to begin. But, yes, a lot of silver will be needed for initial start-up costs. But, there's also the personal investment wealth I manage for my wife and through her, possible resources of House Felix." He smiled thinly. "This would be another very long-term investment with a payoff that might not be seen until two or three decades have passed. We have similar such long-term investments in the Rift, in Winterhold, and in the Pale. As mer, she and I have that time to wait a human generation or two to see profits. You, however . . . Well, we would honor our bargains with you to your grandchildren.

"And it is also possibly true Sanaurach may not have that much silver. But if the war kills you or drives you off this land anyway before the mine plays out . . ." he shrugged.

+—+—+—+—+—+

The plotting lasted through the night and to dawn. Nepos surprised everyone by insisting on a prayer to end the meeting and that Revyn lead it. Revyn didn't bother protesting that he was not a priest; he suspected he was being tested. He shrugged and opened up the carrysack that he'd placed at his left and pulled from it the silk bag protecting his Ancestors necklace. If this was a challenge, then he'd give his full effort instead of just a lip service prayer. He looped the necklace around his forearms as he was wont to do when praying and meditating and loosely clasped his hands together. He stood and took a moment to center and isolate himself in the state he needed to commune with his Ancestors. He felt the comfort of their presence. And what would he pray for? He didn't know so he asked. "Spirits of the Reach. I am new to this land. I am young to its ways. But I see pain. I see confusion. I see heartache that I would see healed. Guide us, please. Dibella, lady of art, beauty, passion, you have found your Sybil here. Mighty Hrokkibeg, you found this place worthy of respite and renewal of your strength. Ancestors of the Reach, there are many of your lost children here in need of guidance and shelter. Is there not a teacher amongst the mighty, whose name I am too ignorent to know, who would come to be our hope for renewal of this land and all life tied to it?"

He felt a strong impulse to work a certain spell and so he did. The ghostly forms of his ashkin shimmered into this world. One went to Nicky and placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured him to stand up and come to stand by Revyn. The other ran off but soon came back, one hand leading Mother Hamal and the other hand holding the flower crown of Dibella. It placed her next to Nicky and handed Nicky the crown. Then the spirits went to stand over two others. One was Nepos's guard and the other was blanket covered figure resting at a nearby campfire.

Madanach laughed, tossed aside his deer skull helmet and got to his feet.

The Emperor threw off his blanket and ordered his battlemages to stand down and drop their illusion spells. He followed the spirit over to them amidst angry curses by the Dunmer who were becoming aware just how strong was the magic worked on them and just how many armored Penitus Oculatus soldiers were among them. The curses died quickly enough as they also became aware of what other power was now present.

The spirits put their spears together and then both held high the poles as an eagle spirit descended from the clouds. It landed on the poles. Shifted, became a snake that coiled and then extended itself lower until its tail touched the ground, and then became a bear.

"Lady of the Beasts." Revyn bowed. People were quick enough to get to their feet and follow his example. Madanach and the Emperor included.

The spirit reared up to its hind legs and reformed as a powerfully built woman wearing a bearskin as a cloak and a bear skull as her helmet, looking almost like a Stormcloak officer in that guise, except that she was Breton, not Nord. She went to Ainethach, smiled and touched his cheek in blessing. Nodded at Madanach, glanced only at the Emperor, then went to Revyn and smiled. She pulled him into her embrace and planted a kiss on the top of his head. He had to crouch in an awkward way because she was shorter. She was no frail, dainty waif and by her visible body strength she could snap him in half with little effort. She held him close for a long while as she whispered in his ear. When she released him, she stepped back and she and the spirits vanished.

"Godsdammit, Revyn, what god did you involve us with this time?" Nicky demanded, exasperated.

"That tone is uncalled for, Nicky. She's exactly what I prayed for," Revyn said, a hurt note in his voice. He let his Ancestors necklace slide from his arms into his hands. Lytram tossed him the silk bag and he put the necklace back in it. He cleared his throat nervously and glanced around at all the eyes staring at him. "Um, she says we may call her Artula, a Divine of the Beasts. She is the spirit of transformation; she who conceives in the dying of the year, dreams the dark paths, and returns to give birth to new life. She's here to guide us and agrees to be patron of Karthwasten and its children if her conditions are met. She demands her first shaman be born of Dibella's Sybil and sired by Hircine's Champion. A grotto dedicated to her will be built here in Karthwasten. When the child is born, he or she will be brought here and, Ainethach, you will have to find a wife from the Forsworn because you and she will be responsible for the child until he or she is old enough to make the necessary journeys to other lands to learn what must be learned before returning here to become the first of the goddess's guides, teachers, and healers. Choose your wife and her tribe carefully, Ainethach."

The Reachman made a weak, wordless noise and looked near to fainting. Enmon, the Sybil's father, just sat there in mute stupification.

He bowed towards Madanach and the Emperor. "Majesties, here is now the opportunity to resume talks that were interrupted by the Bear of Eastmarch and Jarl Hrolfdir taking back Markarth. It is also vital to understand and take into consideration the importance of Artula's demand that the Sybil and Hircine's Champion produce a child. Mother Hamal can enlighten you on this. I think it will help your arguments, Madanach, as you talk to the Matriarchs. And you, sire, you know the Felixes." Revyn bowed to them and then went his previous place between Nepos and Ainethach. Lytram gave him a flask of very strong sujamma.

Nicky towered over him. "Revyn. What. The. Hell? Who said anything about me bedding a kid?"

Revyn blinked at him. "So you would rather her first be Jarl Igmund?" he asked and was answered by Nicky's look of disgust. "Exactly that. I remember when we first met you told me you came to Skyrim to kick the ass of the 200-year-old letch who seduced your innocent young cousin. So let me tell you I'll send your toasted ass back to Cheydinhal in disgrace if you let that child's first experience be with that ignorant, boorish, spineless excuse of a jarl. Go listen to Mother Hamal and learn this isn't just about a child's virginity. You have just as much right to make decisions for the Reach as that king and that emperor because it's your son's or daughter's future they're discussing! _Felix Spirituum_ ," he added, quoting the Felix family motto, "is her legacy even if you can't give her your name."

Revyn yawned mightily and heard his spine crackle as he arched and stretched before bonelessly slumping on the ground and curling around his carrysack. "Spells and gods are so very taxing," he said to no one in particular and yawned again. "Wake me if something exciting happens."


	48. City of Stone pt5

_A/N: updated (7/18). As always, feedback is welcome._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

CITY OF STONE

 _Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown_  
 _Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown_  
 _As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small_  
 _For iron — cold iron — must be master of men all_

"What do you want?" Jarl Igmund glared over his shoulder at the Windhelm spy that had followed him into his chamber. "How in Oblivion did you get past Faleen?"

"Revyn convinced her to let me pass. That old elf has a way with women. Probably that's why Dibella's priestesses seem to have made him a lay priest." The Jarl turned back to his drink, ignoring him. Icewind wasn't offended. The man's attitude was more than understandable.

The Emperor had flatly told Igmund that he could expect no more Imperial troops to assist him with the Forsworn. This, he'd coldly informed the jarl, was an internal matter which the local government should be handling without expecting the Empire to assist any further in the suppression and dispossession of Reach natives. This was also after the Emperor had revealed he had met with Madanach and had heard his side of the story. The Emperor believed Madanach's statement that he was not necessarily an enemy of the Empire; he was fighting the reclaim his people's land from the Nord invaders. If the Emperor recalled, he had sent emissaries to Cyrodiil to get recognition as an independent country and to negotiate their own alliance with the Empire. And it had been going well until Jarls Ulfric and Hroldir thu'um-blasted their way back into Markarth and retook the city. And this morning had been the end of a week-long, close-door review of Silver-Blood's privately held Treasury records, Cidna Mine prison records, and Silver-Blood mercenary payroll records. Initial summaries only. The actual, line-by-line review would take the Imperial Legion accountants a good half-year to review 20 years of secret accounts.

He put his back against the wall near the door and relaxed, crossing his arms over his chest. "My Jarl won't charge in here a second time to rescue Markarth," he said calmly to Igmund's back. "But, not everything need be lost. You may be the last jarl of the Reach, but why shouldn't your son be the first King of the Reach?"

His crossed arms flicked up defensively as Jarl Igmund spun around in his seat and flung his empty goblet at him. The goblet bounced off Icewind's forearms. If it had been a dagger, it would have been a very nice heart shot attempt. "I'm not very good at this," he admitted to the jarl. "But hear me out. I know there are Reach-born Nords who will fight to the death before being driven out of the only home they know. I know —"

"You know? What do you know? You've only been here a few weeks! I was born here. I remember my mother and I fleeing to Solitude when those savages invaded. I remember when we returned how my father tried to make peace with the savages, that he understood why they wanted their own kingdom, but they had to be realistic because we Nords were here now and the sooner they accepted it the better it would go. He offered them a chance to become better than what they are and they killed him."

"They gave your mother and you and any who wanted to leave safe escort out of the Reach and of course they killed those who fought back. But, they didn't round up the families of fighters and torture them to get names and then killed them just for being kin to rebels."

"Ulfric was right there with the Silver-Bloods."

 _"So was your father,"_ he almost said, but chose to say instead, "And that game has run into a burrow no one wants to pursue. Or should pursue.

"I know you consider them howling savages," Icewind said, hardening his tone. "And I agree that their hagraven-led religion is disgusting to all right-thinking people. Some of it even puts off that daedra-worshipping dark elf I came with. But there are many gods in the Reach. Some of them are ones we can agree on. Dibella, Kyne, Mara — maybe not as popular as Hircine or whichever dark god, but they are respected."

"They spit on Talos," Igmund grumbled.

"They see him as a traitor. To them Tiber Septim was once a Breton named Hjalti Early-Beard, born in High Rock and recruited by the King of Falkreath. There's a book on that called the 'Arcturian Heresy.' The Reach has many stories of gods and spirits taking possession or stealing bodies. So if Talos is Hjalti, then he's a Breton who sided with the Nords against his own kind."

"Heretics," Igmund muttered.

"Never mind that," Icewind said coldly. "Gods can take care of themselves. It's our own survival we've got to concentrate on."

"My survival. You can run back to Windhelm any time. You and that damn dark elf and his —"

"Careful!" Icewind interjected. "Careful what you say about his wife. You did witness he threatened the Dominion ambassador over his wife."

"I've nothing to say on Thane Faro," Jarl Igmund grumbled. "I was going to say 'that damn dark elf and his slavemaster.'"

Icewind's back twitched at the mention of Lytram Ulesure the unashamed Dres slaver who now oversaw the prison workforce program for the Gray Guards of Windhelm. His calm, amused testimony of Silver-Blood methods and use of the legally enforced slave system had been a particularly humiliating for Markarth and the Jarl.

". . . but he made no threats," Jarl Igmund was saying. "He just demanded they stop trying to kill her. I don't know why they would. That Thalmor dog I have living in my Keep never once mentioned or made comment about her being a menace when I made her thane. Come to think of it, mentioning her name around him had him twitching like poking a sleeping dog."

Icewind grinned. "Faro was doing a job for her half-sister, the Dragonborn, and set fire to their Embassy and killed a lot of guards and enforcers while stealing their secret files and freeing prisoners. The Thalmor deny it. Wouldn't want it known that it's possible for anyone to stick them in their own stronghold."

That got a smile out of Igmund. "Knew she was a demon the moment she walked into my court. Can't imagine what she sees in that old, skinny stick though."

"None of us can. But if she was looking for someone to manage her money, she picked the right one. Don't be fooled by that fussy, kindly, harmless-me mask he wears. I've seen Revyn Sadri fight and he's fast with conjured demons and poisoned arrows. He smiles like a snake and his tongue is just as fast to taste weakness and opportunity.

"My Jarl Ulfric made him a steward for a reason — because he can make coin as fast as I can skin a buck. He can be useful if handled correctly. You know threatening his wife is a mistake. You made her your thane so you have one coin in your favor."

"Guess he'd have to be good for something to keep a female like that interested," the jarl muttered as he swiveled back around, away from Icewind. "He always like that?"

"No. Before he married her he was just scraping by. Beautiful piece of ass isn't she? She's one any man would have to boost his game count to keep. I would suppose he'd have to compensate with wealth for the fact that he can't keep her at home and she goes wandering off with a younger buck." That was bad, but Icewind didn't particularly care to correct the impression. Besides, people liked to joke that the old mer had plenty of pretty, young things around him when his wife was out wandering. And he did have those two beautiful warrior women living in his house that were suppose to be family to the younger buck that accompanied Helsette on her travels.

The jarl muttered curses over someone called Motierre. "Bastard kept rubbing in how rich he was making Morthal."

"The Reach has plenty of its own silver and gold. The problem has always been all the battles. Sadri's an opportunist like most of his kind are but I'll grant that he does have an honorable loyalty to his people. It's one of the reasons he's confessed that he stays in Windhelm when he has other, richer properties he can easily move to and where the local governments are friendlier. Making him Steward of the Gray Quarter is one way my Jarl binds him to service. And it's paid off in trade with Morrowind and increased taxes we can collect from the Quarter.

"That's a coin in his favor. On the other side, that's meant a stronger dark elf presence and organization in Skyrim. Like in Morthal with their weird mushroom homes and rumors they're trying to import freakish beasts from Morrowind. And then there's that group in the Rift, the same group that's got themselves in charge of the biggest orphanage in Skyrim. Dunmer in charge of Nord orphans," he muttered the last bit resentfully and sighed with the shameful knowledge that his own kind had let their orphaned children down so much that dark elf refugees had to step in. "Riften also got another benefit in that those elves make it a sport to hunt down hidden vampire lairs and bandits. They're also starting to make small settlements in the volcanic areas of the Rift, likening the area to parts of Vvardenfell they're homesick for.

"Damn elves still won't fight for us, at least, not openly. As a group they don't approve, but we've managed a few recruits. They're sneaky and help counter all those bosmer and khajiit scouts the Legion and the Thalmor use."

"Well, cheers for Ulfric then," Igmund snarled, finding another goblet and filling it with wine. "But Sadri's not a Forsworn and it's Forsworn that are the problem here. Forsworn and Thalmor and dragons. Pah!"

"My apologies, lord. My original point is that Sadri has enough interests in the Reach to give him incentive to help you. One is that his wife is thane here."

"Right, right. No upsetting or badmouthing the little woman."

"Two is that he's co-owner of Sanaurach Mine and Ainethach is his friend. And now, three is that new orphanage for the Reach that he and Ainethach are setting up in Karthwasten. An orphanage that even the Forsworn have sent children to. Dark elves from Ivarstead and Geirmund's Honor Orphanage have come to help with the initial set up. They've come with a detachment of mercenaries from the Faldor's Tooth Company. Those mercs are civil war neutral and their leader is married to a cousin of your thane."

"So Karthwasten is trying to become its own town, is that it?"

Icewind sighed softly. "It's just a precaution. Karthwasten will still answer to Markarth and pay its taxes. Sanaurach's silver, however, they want to use for supporting the orphans and paying the fees for mercenaries and salaries for the orphanage personnel."

"I don't give a shit what they use their silver for as long as they pay their taxes and they're not bothering me every month about supporting all those whelps."

"The mercenaries will also make sure the dark elf trade caravan that's going to be making Karthwasten one of its regular stops gets safely in and out. They're also to protect Karthwasten in case some of the non-friendly Forsworn that Madanach hasn't yet convinced to follow him won't honor Karthwasten's neutrality."

"So Ainethach is expecting a big break in taxes for the orphans?"

Icewind was so thankful the jarl wasn't facing him else he'd see the frustration twisting his expression.

Two days ago he'd returned from a hunt with Arven, Companion Athis, and a Karthwasten guide. They'd bagged two fat bucks and brought the prizes back to Karthwasten to feed the children. He was told Sadri wanted to talk with him when he returned. He'd found the mer at the new rock quarry below Karthwasten being watched over by that dark elf slaver. Sadri had been hammer dressing stones for the grotto being built for the patron goddess of the orphans. According to the tales filtering back to the caves where he and Calder had been "guested" in, Nepos, speaking for a disguised Madanach, had insisted the mer lead a prayer to test a rumor that was ruffling the feathers of the hagravens. The feathered horrors actually believed Revyn to be a priest of some old, very powerful god. So the prayer had been a test to see if the mer truly had the ear or ears of any gods and thus any authority to speak to the Reach folk. The hagravens who set Nepos up to this had been scryng.

By their screaming that had permeated throughout the cavern, that wily mer had gotten in a sucker punch. Sadri apparently had found some obscure Reach goddess willing to be the patron of Karthwasten and of the orphans. Furthermore, her future prophet was to be child of Companion Nicky and Dibella's new Sybil. The mer had done some underhanded work before but pimping children was new.

"Changing to an honest profession?" he'd asked.

"It's relaxing," the elf had replied. "Helps me pound out some frustrations I'm having and that I'm hoping you will help me with."

"Leave me out of your schemes, elf," he'd said.

But Sadri had looked at him with a sheepish expression that should have roused his self preservation instincts. "You have to talk to the jarl," Sadri had said woefully. "I fear he won't listen to me especially as he's seen how friendly the Emperor is to me. But you, as a fellow Nord, he will listen to you. Jarl Igmund cannot win against the Forsworn on his own and I'm sure you'll see why beyond the Silver-Bloods having undermined his authority for so long."

"It's no concern of mine if Igmund falls."

"Oh, but it surely is. If Igmund falls, who shall replace him? A Silver-Blood toady? An Imperial loyalist automatically burdened with the Concordat?

A Thalmor Chief Justiciar is in the Reach who commands all those heresy patrols and so-called treaty-enforcers that plague Falkreath. And you know Jarl Siddgier. He doesn't care that the Thalmor patrols take it on themselves to monitor and inspect all non-Legion traffic that comes through Helgen pass. The Thalmor has placed their Chief Justiciar in the Reach to discourage possible cooperation with either Hammerfell or High Rock, both enemies of the Dominion and potential allies of Skyrim. Skyrim protects the backs of both countries as it has Cyrodiil's. Control the Reach, and the Dominion cuts off a potential avenue of retreat.

"Consider further that the Dominion's Embassy in Skyrim is a mountain fortress overlooking Solitude — an incredibly stupid concession that High King Torygg should never have made and it was that that had been the final act to push Jarl Ulfric into open rebellion. And then there was that illegal Thalmor garrison at Northwatch at the border of High Rock where all captured so-called heretics and criminals were tortured. An excellent port for the Dominion navy were it not for its proximity to the castle of the Volkihar vampires." Icewind had nodded. He'd met and talked with Thorald Gray-Mane who had been rescued by Sadri's wife. She'd then gone on to ruthlessly assassinate every Dominion elf inside.

"You see the advantage points the Dominion seeks to secure, do you not? As a merchant I would call that strategic market placement to create a chokehold on trade. The Dominion has footholds in the north, in the west, and south, but not yet in the east because they have not yet found a way to successfully manipulate Morrowind's anger towards the Empire to convince my people to ally themselves with the Dominion.

"They tried to infiltrate and control the College of Winterhold like they have done to the Synod and the College of Whispers, but the Dragonborn killed their agent and continues to root out their mage spies. My wife prevented their attempt in Solstheim to control the stahlrim sources or from discovering the secret of forging stahlrim."

"To Oblivion with trade!" he'd interrupted, flushing with anger as he saw the picture the elf was painting. And stahlrim. Solstheim. Skyrim had given that precious resource away to the dark elves. Thinking of that in the hands in the hands of the Dominion made him sick. "What you are seeing is the Dominion establishing key points of attack."

"Ah. And would you agree with me that the Chief Justiciar and his many patrols could easily have helped Igmund dominate the Reach if they'd been acting in cooperation with the Concordat? All those warriors and battlemages. Instead —"

"Instead," he'd confirmed angrily, "the Dominion let Nords and Forsworn kill each other so that they could funnel in Dominion forces and spies behind the chaos. Damn! Bring them in through that sluggard Siddgeir's Hold, keep him gold-blinded, bring them for training and orders through the Reach . . ."

He was being deftly manipulated, he'd known that even then. He'd watched the dark elf work his way through Ulfric's court with sly words and deceptively meek manners, but Ulfric had shown incomprehensible patience with that elf's games. Hardliners grumbled that the dark elf had bespelled him with that daedric sword. They'd tried swaying Icewind to their side to discredit the elf.

But then the Volkihar battle. The elf had gotten the information for the vampire clan's defenses, he'd been able to quickly muster support across Skyrim, including the Legion, and it was then had Icewind realized how far the old elf's purse strings stretched and how lucky the Stormcloaks were that his loyalties were that strong to the people crowded in the slums of Windhelm. Jarl Ulfric had seen that long before anyone else and had wisely secured that resource, though there were many who saw that as a mistake and the mer as an insidious influence.

"We do have a duty here, would you not agree, to loosen the Dominion's hold in the Reach? Jarl Igmund isn't strong enough to hold, not without a great deal of help. The best deal he can hope for, that either side can hope for, is a merger. You understand, surely? Take a Reach wife of an important family or strong tribe. They're not all barbarians. Nepos is quite civilized and Ainethach and his people, you've seen, are not howling savages. If the Reach is an independent kingdom, then the Concordat has no hold here and the Thalmor will be thrown out, and so cutting off this route for Dominion forces."

"And why should the Empire or Skyrim allow the Reach to secede? Permission from the Empire and from the Moot is needed for that." he'd scowled even as he'd said that. If the Forsworn took over and the Empire refused to send the Legion to aid Jarl Igmund, no other Hold in Skyrim had the troops or money to spare to aid in any significant way.

"The Imperial stable is on fire. The only decent thing to do is throw open the gates and let the horses run to safety," had been Revyn's cryptic answer.

"A boon to thieves," he'd retorted. Revyn had merely shrugged. But as he considered the difficulties of the wily Forsworn, the constant turmoil had made it too easy for the Dominion to slip in. A united Reach was... inconvenient. "Aye. Well, no doubt they'll try to strengthen their position in Falkreath. Easy enough with that fool Siddgeir."

"Perhaps," The elf had smiled, his expression peaceful but sending a chill through the Nord nevertheless. "But they'll find no easy access through Morthal because of the Telvanni or through the Rift because of the Indoril. I know you've fought alongside both in the Volkihar matter so you know their strength. And do you think Balgruuf will allow Dominion forces and heresy patrols to infest his Hold as they do in Falkreath? Might not even our Jarl Ulfric rally to defend Whiterun if the Dominion is bold enough to try for the heart of Skyrim? Think of the Dominion Eagle flying above the Skyforge."

"Only if they win the second Great War," he'd said.

"Agreed. But the Emperor has been playing for time. The Thalmor has not yet enough time to birth and indoctrinate a new generation to replace what they lost. By the time they can, you humans will have replenished your numbers two to three times over unless your breeding advantage has been offset by creating so many little wars that you're weakened and blinded by petty rivalries and thus wasting precious resources and leaders while forgetting the true menace stalking you just out of sight.

"It's how I would play it," the mer had concluded apologetically.

"Persistence hunting. That fucking 'long game' I've heard you harping about around the court. I understand that. Damn. All right, tell me how you need my help."

+—+—+—+—+—+

"What would my ancestors think? Being brought to marrying one of those dirty savages and pretending to the world she's as good as any educated, well-bred Nord noblewoman."

"Would you rather face your ancestors and all your loyal followers in Sovngarde and explain to them how you were too pure to bed a Reach woman?"

"If it was only that!" said Igmund, laughing coarsely. "If all that was required for peace was to bed one of them, then throw the slut in. But to let her be co-ruler? Never!"

Icewind thought of the many Nord noblewomen he'd met who weren't expected to be anything more than empty-headed arm ornaments. His thoughts then flitted to Sadri's wife. Gorgeous, he admitted, for a dark elf; manners, when she chose to use them, to grace the highest society; and a warrior more deadly than a flesh-tearing ice storm. Such a woman would gut Igmund before she'd let him anywhere near her bed. And Igmund was the type who needed someone docile and eager to prop his ego as a capable man. The few Forsworn women Icewind had seen in Madanach's camp would serve Igmund his balls.

"We're working on it," Sadri had assured him. "Finding another Empress Katariah isn't easy, but I have a good feeling one is out there."

He'd had to ask the others who "Empress Katariah" was. Companion Nicky had explained the empress was the Dunmer noblewoman Emperor Magnus Septim found to marry his clearly insane son, the future Emperor Pelagius. She was an intelligent, politically savvy, iron-willed female who ruled the Empire for decades until her assassination. Enemies were quick to shove a purer Septim line onto the throne afterwards.

Problem was that Igmund wasn't an insane sport that could be conveniently shoved into an obscure vacation villa like Emperor Pelagius was. Icewind wondered what kind of woman Sadri would find who'd willingly walk into such a marriage.

Not his problem. His task was to get the bull to the pen so a nose ring could be inserted. So he spent the rest of the day drinking heavily with Igmund and telling the jarl stories about Sadri and his venturous wife Helsette; talking about how the dark elves in Windhelm were finally pulling their weight after Jarl Ulfric made a few deft concessions to encourage them to stop depending on Nord charity.

The next day he stood by Igmund as the Thalmor's Chief Justiciar demanded copies of Silver-Blood records in the interests of making sure there were no schemes in place that would violate terms of the Concordat. Igmund referred him to the Penitus Oculatus investigators. And what would Jarl Igmund do to ensure the safety of Thalmor treaty enforcement parties out in the Reach? If the Thalmor thought they needed protection from the savages, Igmund promised to put his Hold's best noble, Thane Faro, in charge of that issue.

After the Chief Justiciar left, Igmund, Icewind, and Raerek retired to Igmund's quarters with an order for a keg of beer and to discuss requirements for a Reach bride. And after that, Icewind shared battle stories about the recent vampire war, noting that while Legion and Stormcloak forces could put aside their politics for this battle, no one ever considered inviting the Thalmor to fight this menace to all Tamriel. Icewind was willing to concede that the vampires would have won if it hadn't been for the dark elf wizards and spellswords backing up Legion and Stormcloak forces. Oh, and the Winterhold wizards, too. He worked in Sadri's insinuations about the Thalmor Justiciar failing to aid Igmund against the Forsworn, especially the magics of the Forsworn hagravens and briarhearts. For supposed allies, the Thalmor actually contributed nothing while continually demanding special considerations.

That led to a discussion of battle tactics and from there into how the Thalmor were slowly establishing attack points around Skyrim and using Falkreath and the Reach to funnel in forces. The Imperial military governor could do nothing because of the Concordat and Jarl Ulfric was using the dark elves' natural animosity towards their fairer cousins to keep them out of Stormcloak territories. If the Reach, however, continued to depend on the Empire, well, they may as well hand over rule to Chief Justiciar Ondolemar.

Or, Igmund could join forces with Madanach and get those damn yellow knife-ears out once and for all because an independent kingdom could ignore the Concordat. The Thalmor would have trouble retaliating because they could hardly bring in forces through High Rock or Hammerfell, nor would the Empire allow a Dominion army to march through Imperial lands and an allied Hold. Igmund was coming to like the idea. He hated the way the Chief Justiciar strutted about his Keep. But would Madanach see things the same way? Icewind assured him that Sadri was talking with Madanach. The dark elf had enough witchy powers that seemed to have won the respect of a couple of local hagraven matriarchs. He told Igmund that even the elves of the Gray Quarter had been surprised when the humble shopkeeper they'd known for so long started emerging as a fairly powerful ghost caller and shaman.

Jarl Igmund did ask why Faro wasn't a thane in Windhelm if she was so useful to Ulfric. Icewind re-explained what Igmund's own uncle and steward had found out from other Holds, that Faro was the daughter of an Imperial general and of a family that had helped put the Medes on the Imperial throne. She was, as he knew, thane in other Imperial-allied holds, but not in any Stormcloak-allied holds because if it came to battle she refused to attack Legionnaires. Also, General Tullius was a dear family friend.

And if the Reach did separate from Skyrim, Igmund would still be able to count on her and her husband's support because of friendships and interests they had in Markarth and around the Reach. Icewind did respect that they stood by their friends.

And should Igmund go the independent route, he still might expect covert support from the future High King Ulfric, especially if silver trade with the Empire soured and shifted instead to eastern markets.

Now for Nepos the Nose. It had come out in the hearings that Nepos was Madanach's man all this time and that he'd served the Silver-Bloods only because Madanach had commanded it. Like many jarls that claimed that their bloodlines could be traced back to Ysgramor, Nepos could trace his back to the Second Era when many of his ancestors were powerful kings and warlords of the Reach. He was Reach-born, proud of it, and had his education in best universities of High Rock. What was Igmund to do with him? His first instinct was to run the man through with his greatsword, but with the Silver-Bloods dead there was no one else who knew the Treasury books and the finances of Markarth or who handled most of the civic projects of Markarth as well as him. Raerek freely admitted he wasn't up to handling even half of what Nepos was juggling. He and Igmund would have to carefully consider how to redistribute power and who to appoint to newly created offices. Icewind reminded them that coming to terms with Madanach should be their first priority. If they hadn't realized it yet, Madanach had already made his first gesture of cooperation by not ordering Nepos to quit Markarth and had, in fact, ordered Nepos to continue in his current duties for now.

Jarl Igmund and Uncle Raerek hadn't seen that. All right, it was time to think about requirements for a Reach bride and plan how to handle the reaction of the Nord nobility and families that refused to leave the Reach and to accepting Forsworn as equals.

"This could take a while," Igmund said, looking at Icewind. "I'd like your opinion as an outsider. You've proven you're able to see what I've been missing and you're not a witless bootlicker so you'll tell me if I'm getting distracted by the wrong things."

"This could take weeks, my lord," said Raerek. He too looked at Icewind. "Do you have the time? Do you need to return to Windhelm soon?"

"Actually, I have Jarl Ulfric's permission to stay as long as needed," answered Icewind. The orders from Ulfric had come in this morning via Sadri's personal courier service that Icewind didn't know he had until then. Jarl Ulfric wanted more information and wanted both of them working on extracting more information on Thalmor plans. He also wanted them establishing ties within the kingdom to come. The more they could get, the pleasanter his mood would be when they returned.

Ah, well. He was getting quite fond of the showers in Vlindrel Hall and he was developing a taste for venison sausages infused with juniper beer.


	49. Show Me The Wayshrine

_A/N: The Imperial Library's timeline of events of the Merethic Era states its version. Officially, the dragon cult hadn't taken full control until after Ysgramor's anti-elf rampage. But, I'm throwing a lot of salt on that on the premise that winners write the histories. • What is the power of the falmer? I've never found anything official. So I focused on the "Eyes of the falmer" and that fact that the bat on their armor is their totem spirit (like the wolf is the Companions')._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Show Me The Wayshrine**

"Revyn? Revyn? Are you well, dear? You look about to faint." Helsette grasped his shoulder and shook him slightly, worry furrowing between her eyebrows.

"Get me out of here, please," he said softly.

Helsette put an arm around his shoulders and guided him back out the front door of the falmer temple of Auri-El.

She'd just showed up three days ago in Markarth. Had lunch with the Emperor and the Jarl, caught up on news, and, once out of sight of Markarth, had whisked her husband away on the back of Arvak, her Soul Cairn horse, to Darkfall Cave and through the wayshrines to Auri-El's temple in the forgotten vale of the falmer. She'd wanted to show him this beautiful place and introduce him to Knight Paladin Gelebor, a falmer alive since the First Era.

"Revyn?"

"Sorry, love, but I just couldn't breathe anymore.

The tale of the quest for Auri-El's Bow had given Revyn nightmares for days. A fallen Auri-El priest with power sufficient to overwrite — or truly unsettling, to write — an Elder Scroll turned into a feral vampire. Question. Why could he not cure himself? This was a sanctified temple and he was its blessed light with access to Auri-El. Why couldn't he cure himself or immediately sought the aid of one of the other priests?

But Revyn didn't know enough about the falmer, the original people. There wasn't much literature he could recall on them in dunmer lore, though he could not claim to be any sort of scholar or historian. All he knew of the ancient falmer is that they were a people that lived in hellishly cold lands. Their power, however, was not in ice, frost or anything that had to do with cold. Old stories painted them as dreamers, always looking upon worlds no one else could see. It would explain why the dwemer found it imperative to blind the falmer. Aside from the fact that blinding was a brutal, demoralizing act, it was possible the dwemer feared something else and sought to cripple the innate powers of the falmer by crudely destroying their physical counterpart.

Power that affects the Elder Scrolls. Revyn supposed it was fortunate that the high priest had been infected by a low-level feral vampire and not a vampire lord like Harkon or Serana else the sun would have been blotted out long ago.

"Ghosts?" said Helsette, glancing at the closed doors. "A lot of those poor, frozen souls finally died when most the temple roof collapsed. I suppose I could go in, release the rest if you want. Maybe I should have done that in the first place instead of leaving them forever frozen."

"No, no, don't kill them," Revyn protested. He sighed. "Maybe it would be counted as a mercy to kill them, but it feels wrong. It's too bad we don't know of a practicing priest of the faith to bring here. And not a human one. It would have to be a mer. An altmer of Summerset practising the old rites before the inclusion of Man would be nearest to the falmer rites I think

"You can't talk to them?"

"You give me too much credit, love. I can't just walk into any haunted place and start talking with the residents. There must be a connection."

"But the channeling you did at the College —"

"That wasn't communication; that was possession. And it only worked because there was a non-mortal spirit involved and I invited it."

"So what triggered you back there?"

"The altar. It is a lure, the bait, the warped promise of salvation. Apologies to your Gelebor but destroy it."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." She stood up, her expression grim. "Oh, wait, wait," said Revyn. "Don't do it now. You told me that the first time you came here you had an ewer that you had to refill at each wayshrine, yes?"

"Yes. A symbolic representation of one's willingness to be filled with enlightenment," she answered. "Um, last I remember holding it… I think I left it on the trigger dais in that frost giant's room.

"Is it someplace we can get again? Because the reverse is also true, that while we are willing to be filled, we must also be willing to share and not hoard our blessings."

"Hm, I did pour the waters out in that bowl over there and it did leak the water into these channels that opened the doors. You want me to refill the ewer at each shrine again?"

"No. I'll do it. I noticed the shades did not respond to you as they should have done because you've already passed their tests."

"Revyn, no. The falmer, the Betrayed, have returned to the caverns. You can't fight your way through them."

"Who said anything about fighting? I have the stealth and endurance ring you made for me, I have a few vials of invisibility with me, and unlike the original pilgrims I have the shortcuts you've shown me so I'm not wandering lost through this magnificent vale trying to locates the shrines. And if I really must, I can call on my ancestors for protection."

"And you'll take Auri-El's shield with you. I insist. And here's my ring of restoration and power regeneration."

"As you wish, Helsette. Two week at most, love, since I'm not as fit as you and sneaking around to avoid confrontations will certainly slow me down."

"But why you, Revyn?"

"It's the prelates I want to talk to. Gelebor told you they only respond to initiates they believe are undergoing the trials. So I will talk to them as a clueless initiate, which isn't going to be hard because I know absolutely nothing about the falmer religion."

"And you want me to just sit here and wait?"

"No. You need to convince Gelebor to let you destroy that altar, but don't touch it until I return. If I'm successful in my quest, I'll have better advice from the dead prelates on how to re-sanctify the temple."

She actually had to fetch Gelebor first and Revyn had to re-explain his reasoning because Gelebor, as the guardian of the wayshrine in Darkfall Cave, had to reset all the shrines first before Revyn could attempt his pilgrimage. It had been his duty to greet the hopeful pilgrims and judge their sincerity and physical fitness to endure the journey. He was doubtful Revyn could elicit from the shades much beyond superficial greetings. They'd never responded to him in any other way and he had known each of them before their deaths. But, if Auri-El's chosen had her faith in him, then it was not his place to question.

He escorted Revyn back to Darkfall, reset all the shrines, and presented Revyn with the initiate's ewer and the traditional instructions.

But just as Revyn stepped into the shrine to begin, he stopped and stood there, head bowed, for a long moment, then turned back to Gelebor. "This is your journey, serjo," he said firmly. "I thought I could talk to the prelates, but as I had told my wife I can't just talk to anybody without a blood connection. That's not say that I'm assuming that you are blood kin to them. But… I believe they will want to speak to you, the last living guardian of this temple."

"I've tried to talk to them many times before. Prayed, begged that they respond. Why should they talk now?" Gelebor's stoicism bespoke centuries of disappointment and silence.

Revyn shrugged and smiled a sad smile. "What cost to try one more time?"

+—+—+—+—+—+

Wayshrine of Illumination

Prelate Sidanyis: They had come from settlements west of Saarthal fleeing the atmoran war parties. The invaders wielded ice magic like the chimer wielded flames so that even we, who had been born in this icy land, found ourselves pushed to endure. They would have surrendered if it meant peace, but those who surrendered found themselves sacrificed to the dragons as food or gutted on the altars just for the atmorans to prove their devotion in blood or marched away southward in chains to some unknown place. The dreams said hell. Unrelenting labor and pain and wails of despair. And hell was presided over by their mad warchief and his accursed axe of hatred. Even a glancing blow from it sets mer flesh aflame. Terrible were the dreams of that flaming axe that sliced into everyone's sleep. The screaming of the lost.

A tide of wailing phantoms converging upon me for sanctuary. Many of them had wandered for months until they were gathered by prelates of fallen temples who then led them here to the safest sanctuary they knew. The guardians had passed them though most were unprepared and unfit to face the journey, so I could do no less. I gave what comfort I could. I pray Auri-El guide their minds and spirits. So many carried the darkness of events in their hearts.

If there were those among them the guardians should not have let pass, I cannot blame them. I could not bear to send the disturbed ones back into the darkness. I cannot blame you, Gelebor. I, too, could not comprehend the evil overtaking us and nor was there anything in my training that could have prepared me to face this tide of misery. Peace, Gelebor, behold Auri-El's gift, my friend. May it light your path as you seek tranquility with the past.

Wayshrine of Sight

Prelate Athring: They came, the proof of my nightmares for the past two, three years. Refugees led by Amara and Danzel, my yearmates. The wild, horrible stories that had trickled in of the outside world, of great flying monsters and hordes of hairy savages flooding up the beaches of the northern sea.

I also saw the dwemer looking up, watching us, and their machines distilled mushrooms. They would open the doors to their cities if we but drink deeply of Namira's wine. They had no intention to help us win back our lands. Why for should they waste their resources because the primitives are easily outlived. Nor will Men waste their strength digging for dwemer treasure when they can simply take it from the falmer. No, they were not troubled by Man, but they were more afraid of losing their precious secrets to us. As if we would ever be interested with what they do in the dark. Their ways are not our ways and their devotion to their machines unholy in their denial of the gods. They put all their thoughts, their efforts, and all but their souls into their machines.

They put ours into them instead. Our people thought they were fleeing dragons. They fled instead into the maw of dwemer industry. Too late did we see… And then we could see no more. We lost our freedom, our sight, our souls.

The mantras, Gelebor, we mustn't forget the mantras. Let our words and our songs be our guide through the darkness. Break the silence, the soulless noises of machinery. Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El and to bring the vessels for his enlightenment?

Wayshrine of Learning

Prelate Celegriath: Gelebor, never has any knight-paladin endured what you have had to endure and yet must face in the future. We'll never again be as many or as widespread as before, but we may yet survive. This valley is no longer our temple but must be our home. Yes, as you had hoped, as you believed, there are other uncorrupted by the dwemer even as they were preserved by dwemer machines. They awaken by the grace of Auri-El and the Champion of the Hunter of Knowledge.

We must ask you to leave this vale and return with Auri-El's Champion to her place of learning. You must greet the awakened and escort them back. You must also greet the new god whom our sad, twisted children will need for their long ascent from darkness into Auri-El's light. This journey, this new god and his champion, will test you again — your resolve, your beliefs, your gods. Question then. And return all the stronger for it. May Auri-El's warmth imbue you with strength.

Wayshrine of Resolution

Prelate Nirilor: So many pilgrims come with hope to find answers and resolutions to the questions and conflicts in their heart and mind. Many are disheartened to learn the last length of the journey is the hardest yet to come. Those who lost much of their hope to get here either lose what they had left — or they find the strength, the resolution to begin again and to step away from their past travails to explore further the path ahead.

Gelebor, you stood as the physical guardian who judged their physical and mental fitness to start the journey. At the end of it, only they could judge their fitness to complete it. We teach of the gifts of Auri-El and we speak of examples, but only in our individual journeys might we discover the meaning of these gifts.

May the enrichment of Auri-El strengthen your resolve as you undertake your journey.

Wayshrine of Radiance

Arch-Curate Vyrthur: Greetings, my brother. You are surprised to see me I expect. Yes, I can see your coldness and I feel pain and shame that this is so, but I have earned it. When Prelates Amara and Danzel came before me I immediately knew their corruption and killed them and the ones infected past hope. It was a difficult battle and very tiring. But, they had already infected one if my initiates who had initially greeted them. I was not prepared for that attack. I should have been.

Because I had seen visions of Molag Bal's violation of our sanctuary. I saw the ripples of Alduin's wings in the time stream and knew them as echoes from the future. I saw the blaze of distant events but not the shapes between. And I raged against Auri-El because I knew that for all my pleas, for all our hopes, he would not stop what was to come. Nothing could stop what was to come. As another will teach you, in the battles of time and space, by the time one sees the light, it is too late.

I cannot say much more in detail. Prelate Edhelbot — may Auri-El forever after hold him in grace — sacrifices beyond what such as I have any right to expect and takes my place in Coldharbour for a brief time so that I might speak with you now. I would not have him suffer any more than necessary.

It is now up to you, brother. You were always the stronger in spirit and belief but your journey took you from the priesthood to guardianship. And so you have endured. Hold fast a little while longer.

May the blessings of Auri-El protect you as you guide the lost home.

+—+—+—+—+—+

Gelebor reached the temple and poured out the waters from the ewer. The first time, he remembered, he was bone-tired and elated with the realization that he knew his duty was to protect this magnificent place that had tested him. This time... This time the waters spilling from the ewer were his tears bled from his spirit and soul, squeezed out by the realization of loneliness this journey had forced him to acknowledge.

Empty as the ewer. By Auri-El's undeniable light how he missed hearing Vyrthur reading aloud scripture passages as he worked on sermons. He missed the give and take of combat training with his brothers and sisters in arms. He missed dinners, lunches, parties with family and friends at holy day celebrations. He missed the shared nights of pleasure.

As the doors opened he bent and cradled Revyn's thin body in his arms again and carried him through the rubble to the balcony. Helsette was dozing in the sunlight, an unashamed creature of shadows naked on a sun-warmed fallen slab of stone. She was instantly awake as Gelebor gently cleared his throat.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Peace," he answered. "He's merely exhausted." He looked around, spotted her sleeping pad, and went there to lay Revyn down. "Your mate, Dragonborn, is a mer of great wisdom. The prelates all spoke through him. Even Vyrthur escaped long enough from Coldharbour to speak to me."

"I see." She sighed and sat down next to her husband and lifted him just enough so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp until the stress lines in his face eased away. "He hates channeling. The stubborn fool knows enough shamans and ex-temple priests who could probably train him, but he refuses to take lessons unless I bully him to do so. He claims the disciplines to shield his mind also hinder the very senses that need protection."

"It does," agreed Gelebor. "It's like learning to live in heavy armor. It's heavy, it can be clumsy and chafing and burdensome with maintenance. It takes years or even decades of training to a point where one no longer feels the restraints and the inner power can move again. But, yes, for some things to happen the armor must be removed. And only the individual can say what works best for one's empowerment.

"That is the whole point of the trials." He stood up, rubbing his eyes from weariness that was more than physical. "Forgive me if I make myself absent for the rest of the day, Dragonborn. I must prepare myself for the journey ahead. I haven't left this vale in eons nor dared to think of anything beyond my duties to keeps this vale safe from the outside world and from the Betrayed. There are safeguards to be put up or strengthened before I can leave here."

"Take your time, Gelebor; go rest and gather your thoughts. I will help you later to secure the temple."


	50. Battling Shadows

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Battling Shadows**

"I wouldn't have thought this a good idea," Revyn said. He stood behind his wife, brushing her hair and lifting the thick strands to air dry of sweat. Together they watched as Gelebor defended himself against the combined attacks of Nicky, Athis, and Icewind.

"Relax, dear. You know nords respect strong fighters. And we've got to find him better armor before we leave Markarth. Something not so blatantly altmerish."

"Unfortunately, the Uvayn trade caravan has already left else we could put him in bonemold. What about Dawnguard armor? I could send an order into Tel Windstad, I believe they have the patterns for the armor, especially now that we've allowed the Dawnguard a courtesy station there, and they could have a set ready that you and he could pick up on your way back to Winterhold. Now that the armor is better known, people will assume he's a vampire hunter and won't get in his way. Oh, but then people will expect... Hm."

"Good idea, dear." She chuckled. "Dawnguard. Oddly appropriate for a knight-paladin of Auri-El. Also, have them craft one of the new silvered maces, then lay in a store of grand gems. When I get there I'll want to do some enchanting. Not that I don't think they can do that, but I want to talk to Gelebor first and see what complements his skills."

They'd returned to Markarth after leaving the falmer's hidden vale. It had taken Revyn three days of sleep to recover from the mental and spiritual exhaustion of channeling so many ancient, powerful falmer spirits, never mind the physical exertion of travel between the wayshrines even with Gelebor at his side guiding, protecting, and doing most of the food-finding. Revyn knew he'd have died on his own without the knight-paladin watching over him. Each encounter and possession by the prelates had left him mentally and spiritually exhausted. Pushing to finish the route in two weeks rather than, say, two years, left little time to recover. His sleep was still riddled with nightmares; their nightmares, their visions.

The "eyes of the falmer" was the key. To Revyn, their "visionary" talents were confusing and frightening. Prelate Sidanyis saw everything illuminated in energy; that people, animals, all living, breathing things were flickering flames while trees and plants and such were steady, unwavering things of life. Prelate Athring saw dreams of those he shared his bed with. And if they happened to be seers of any sort... Prelate Celegriath could touch objects and see the faces of past owners. Prelate Nirilor was a seer of events and could usually identify "turning points" in one's life.

Arch-Curate Vyrthur was another seer, but a god-touched one who could see past, futures, and sideways on the parallax, and thus able to read an Elder Scroll without going mad or blind. He'd touched his own future, had known his own past, and between the two points of his life drew the anchor line upon which he could write a great lie for a trap.

It was true that not even the gods could alter the words of an Elder Scroll. But, no one said anything about riders or hidden clauses that could be included. All it would need is an anchor line and a trigger. All he would need is that true child of Coldharbour so afraid of dying as to resort to reading an Elder Scroll to avoid the inevitable. A vampire lord has no chance of reading an Elder Scroll any better than any other temporal creature, but since Vyrthur's rider was not part of the true Elder Scroll, it would be his "prophecy" the vampire would remember from the reading once it recovered.

A lie he'd set in motion at the setting of the third day, his last day before the disease destroyed his spirit and finished its corruption of his mind and soul. He'd wrapped the Elder Scrolls of Sun and of Blood around a sunhallowed arrow; the last arrow he could ever produce. For the first and last time he lifted his god's sacred bow and aimed east, away from Aetherius, and let the arrow and its altered truths fly into the oncoming darkness. He'd replaced the bow into its niche and went to his knees, facing west, and watched Aetherius — and his god — disappear forever from his sight.

 _We write things to be remembered_ , he thought sadly. _Our plans, our dreams, even our lies. Especially our lies. My life is a lie; let it be so. Let it be all I remember so that I am never tempted to leave the vale and spread this infection. Let me remember that I want revenge. But as all lies need a seed of truth, here is truth — may it be the lodestone that anchors me to this tomb where I must die — I hate thee, my God; you knew this would happen and you kept it from us!_

Revyn's days between the shrines were hazy recollections of stumbling after Gelebor, of Gelebor having to pull him by the hand or else he'd just stand there in a daze lost in conflicting memories of the vale; seeing what it was before the falmer, the temple of the past, the homes of the future.

Gelebor remained stoic as he followed them to Markarth. His armor of a knight-paladin of the falmer had been packed away and he wore the golden armor of the altmer assembled from pieces found throughout the Vale from the many dead mer adventurers who had come chasing the legend of Auri-El's Bow. Superficially, at a distance, he passed as altmer.

They'd returned to Markarth because Revyn had duties to attend to and because Helsette had some obligations as thane to find out what her jarl was doing to make peace with Madanach and what the Emperor was scheming at. It would also give Gelebor time to get used to interacting with more people.

Icewind had known immediately Gelebor wasn't like any of the mer races he'd ever seen before. Up close there was no mistaking the falmer's opaque white flesh, the blue ice hair, the silver frost tint to his blue eyes, for any golden child of Summerset. Revyn was pleasantly surprised that Icewind had no problem with meeting an original snow elf.

The old falmer knew their Doom when it landed on their shore, was Icewind's remark. And he knew the irony of over-confident hunters who eventually find prey that, when cornered, fight back so ferociously to reverse the roles. Icewind was quite proud of that. A lesson all Mer need to relearn, he warned, the Man will always fight back with the fury of the gods when cornered. He'd fought many degraded falmer when they wandered out of their holes to hunt during ice storms. Yet, even he could feel pity for a people so reduced that their souls were only worth lesser to common soul gems.

And how did he know that? Because it was good practice to get to know one's prey. He still hated all necromancers but he was slowly learning to make some separation of necros from dunmer; and so he had also learned about soul gems and how necromancy was regarded by most dunmer. And he had the petty satisfaction knowing that the dunmer had been suitably humbled by Shor's Heart that they could no longer consider themselves superior to Man and that had allowed him to soften his anti-dunmer stance. His own soul was still worth a black soul gem. Even the souls of those blood-sucking Thalmor and cowardly imperials were worth black soul gems. But for falmer, time and malicious fate had debased their value to lesser and common gems.

So Gelebor was no threat to him. The time of the snow elf had passed and Icewind could afford to be generous and put aside any historical animosity.

"Thank you, my lord. We are grateful for your understanding," said Revyn, neutrally, when Icewind had finished his sermon. Icewind responded by scowling. He suspected the dark elves were in a snit about his frank views, but truth is truth.

Time for more practical things. They wanted to help this relic from the falmer past to know the current world? Then there was no better way than a good exercise to get the blood and brain working. "So, a knight-paladin," he said, laying a hand on his sword hilt in challenge. "What say we find the nearest training yard and see if you've got what it takes to survive outside the cave you've been hiding in all these centuries."

+—+—+—+—+—+

"Thane Icewind tells me you're looking for my Empress Katariah."

Revyn smiled stiffly while internally cringing. Having lunch with the Jarl, Icewind, Steward Raerek, Nepos, Helsette, and three other members of the Jarl's court whose names he didn't bother to remember was something he'd hoped to avoid. But now that the Emperor had finally left the Reach to inflict himself upon Whiterun, Jarl Igmund was eager to re-assert his rule over Markarth and had summoned his advisors and thanes to discuss future actions. Icewind, sitting at the Jarl's right, smirked at Revyn.

"Ah, well, not me personally," Revyn said. "I have, though, been making offerings to various gods — Dibella, Mara, even Talos..."

"And this new goddess I've heard you summoned from Aetherius for Karthwasten."

"Yes, my jarl, and her. If you've decided to tie your fate with the Reachfolk then, yes, your future would be a concern of hers."

"Make sure she's young and pretty. Icewind says you know how to find them." Even Icewind rolled his eyes.

"Noted, my jarl," said Revyn evenly.

"And intelligence and can fight," added Helsette firmly. "The Reachfolk won't respect a ruler who's an empty-headed doll and they'll suspect any child from such will be similarly weak-minded. Isn't that right, Nepos?"

"Correct, my thane." Nepos looked to the Jarl and said, "Your queen will greatly influence whether reconciliation is at all possible. An 'empty-headed doll' as our thane puts it will certainly lose our respect and be seen as a deliberate insult to our noble ladies and their families. There is already that risk if such a lady is an outsider, meaning anyone born outside of the Reach." He looked at Revyn and smiled ruefully. "This challenge I do not envy you, my friend."

"Is that all you've been doing? Praying?" said unmemorable Nord Noble One. "No disrespect to the gods, but isn't it, 'the gods help those who help themselves?' Where have you been searching?"

"If you won't consider Skyrim nobles, have you looked to High Rock?" asked unmemorable Nord Noble Two. "Many of the native nobility here have connections over there. Lord Nepos, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you, yourself, have connections in High Rock? I understood you studied in the universities there."

"Correct, my lord. I studied in Evermor and I have kin in Jehanna."

"Any marriageable girls there?" said unmemorable Nord Noble Three, jokingly.

"There are a good number of noble young ladies in both cities," Nepos answered. But he looked at Helsette and Revyn when he said, "Actually, I've received word that a young kinswoman is soon to be visiting Markarth briefly on her journey to Winterhold. She has been accepted as a student of Restoration at the College there."

"Really?" said Helsette. "Winterhold is a long ways away. High Rock has plenty of well-respected centers of magic and of healing. What draws her to that place in particular?"

"I don't know," said Nepos. "Elyzabyth, my kinswoman, Elyzabyth Ashcroft, will be arriving next week. Would you care to meet her?"

"I'm not marrying anyone without meeting her first," insisted Jarl Igmund to no one in particular.

+—+—+—+—+—+

The vampire wouldn't stop shrieking. She batted through his pitiful attempts to defend himself and her hands wrapped around his throat before he could summon his fire wolves.

He woke. His wife straddled him, her knees pinning his arms down. One hand was behind his neck and the other clamped over his mouth. He looked at her sorrowfully and she relaxed. Her legs slid down and she stretched over and atop his body while her arms slid under his shoulders as she propped herself up on her elbows. "That's the second time this week you've had a nightmare where you've attacked me. Do you remember this time what it was about?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, forgive me, love. Yes, I was being attacked by vampires. Prelates Amara and Danzel."

"You were dreaming you were Vyrthur again," she said flatly. "What was it this time?"

"The Prince of Domination is coming."

" _'Is coming?'_ " she repeated sharply. Revyn felt a touch of fear as he stared at her lips now pulled tight in an angry frown and at the way her eyes fairly glowed in the dark as she stared off above his head as if seeing a distant prey. She was going to go charging off again and this time to face off against one of the more dangerous daedra gods.

"So, that place that fool of a Vigilant is hovering over, that you say a priest of Boethiah put warding signs on, did you see _that_ place?" They'd all been discussing it after dinner. The Vigilant — Tyrrus? Tyranus is his name — had recently caught Icewind and Nicky to ask them about the seemingly abandoned house. Both had declined to help him, having already been warned by Revyn to avoid meddling in a battle between two daedra. As Revyn had anticipated, his wife was not pleased to learn of this Imperial School of the Voice that Tiber Septim had set up; taking it as a sure sign of disrespect to the Graybeards in favor of the Blades and also an insult towards Morrowind whom Septim knew hated the Tongues of Skyrim. Though long defunct and the school turned into homes and shops, something apparently remained in one of the homes.

"I don't know. But, now as I think on it, the room I as fighting the vampires in was pretty small and, well, lower class than what I expect an Arch-Curate's chambers would be. Rather like a stone cellar."

"Damn." She relaxed, shifted down so that she could rest her head on his chest. "I guess I should look into it and not wait until that priest arrives. Damn vampires again."

"Perhaps we should start looking for the priest first?" said Revyn. "Ask Madanach's people? If that is a temple of the Dominator, I don't want you having to face him without proper backup. Azura will protect your mind, but anyone else may find their wills crushed by his and they will attack you."

"I trust you more than an unknown priest but I'll have you nowhere near that house. All right, you see if Madanach's people can find this priest. I'll hold off and try talking to that fool of Stendarr's to make sure he doesn't do something stupid." She sighed. "I wonder if Gelebor would back me? Surely he can resist Molag Bal's influence."

"I believe him capable of resisting the Prince's influence. I don't know if he's been trained to directly counter daedric magic. His twist of falmer vision is that he has a sort of night vision and sensitivity to unseen opponents. I don't think even a Nightingale could sneak past him and he could duel with you even if you were invisible. Very good talent for a guardian."

"Battling shadows. Very good skills." She yawned and Revyn found himself yawning with her. He rubbed slow circles over her shoulders and down her back as far as he could reach to her midback. "Mmmm," she purred.

"I don't really want to sleep now, love. But you go right ahead," he said.

One eye popped open. "I would, but my pillow keeps twitching under my tummy."

+—+—+—+—+—+

Vigilant Tyranus had finally let his sense of righteous duty overcome common sense and had broken the warding spells on the door to enter the house. People heard screaming. But before the guards could go in, they were ordered back by Thane Faro and then she and her pale altmer companion went in. Her housecarl and her guests at Vlindrel Hall all stood guard outside the house to keep everybody else out, including the Markarth guards. Not that anyone could get in anyway. As soon as the thane and her companion had entered the house the door had sealed itself shut and no amount of force could get it open. "A lot of shouting and things banging around," said Companion Athis, his sharp dunmer ears pressed against the door. "Can't tell what's being said."

A particular sound vibrated the door.

"Oh, shit. Even that I heard," said Nicky, who had gotten a cup from someone and had its open end pressed to the door and his round ears against the cup's bottom. "So that's Molag Bal. Terrific." He dropped his voice as low as he could and mimicked for everybody's benefit, "'Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh. You will kill. You will kill, or you will die!' Hey, Athis, you think he and Boethiah were once mates? Would explain the animosity, don't you think?"

"Wouldn't be surprised. But, of course, I'll have to thrash you soundly for that blasphemy to the Lord Mother of the dunmeri."

"Get away from that door, boys. Listening to Molag Bal is bad for everyone's health," said Revyn, tugging at their shoulders.

"Know what's going on in there?" asked Nicky.

"No. All the ghosts I know are too afraid to go in. Does that tell you anything?"

Revyn dealt with the guard captain on duty. He also sent Arvel to fetch Nepos and inform him of events. Things went unsettlingly quiet for a long while.

The door flew open and Helsette stomped out. "Tiber Septim really fucked up with this School of the Voice," she snarled. "Of course it would attract Molag Bal's attention! Nicky, make sure that stupid priest of Boethiah is found! Bal says he's injured and is at one of the Reach strongholds."

" _He_ told you that? Why—"

"Nicky!"

"On it, cousin. Leaving now. C'mon, Athis."

She looked around, spotted someone, and pointed to him. "Nepos!"

"My thane?"

"I want anyone living within a 100 yards of here cleared out! The Jarl may have to dig into his treasury to compensate people; tell him to suck it up! Icewind, you go with him too and make sure the Jarl listens. This is a god-of-the-vampires matter and you know I am not doing any of this on a whim."

"Talos strengthen your arm, Helsette," said Icewind. "But why aren't you telling the Jarl this yourself?"

"Because I don't have time to argue with him. I have to leave now to get to Tel Windstad. There's a particular weapon I want. Revyn can tell you later about the sword of Meridia."

She went to Revyn and pulled him into a quick kiss. "The Vampire Mace," she told him. "That's what was in there. Keep that quiet if you can. If that fool priest gets back here before I do, give him an earful, dear. Godsdamned Boethians think they have to handle everything on their own. Remind him Boethiah has no respect for lone champions if ultimately the champion fails in his task. I may have to kill him, but if he plays it right with me, it'll be a glorious, purposeful death that foils _Her_ enemy. That should ensure his welcome to Boethiah's armies."

"I'll be sure make that clear to him."

"Good. And also ask the Ancestors for any ideas of what we should do if I actually succeed in getting the Mace. I'd like some clues as to where and how to contain the item. He'll find a way to get it back, of course, eventually, but no need to make it easy for him."

"I'll do my best, love, but no guarantees. Most of the spirits I know will have nothing to do with that prince."

"Oh, and do you think you can handle the Thalmor? I know Ondolemar will want to stick his nose in and I'm certain he'd fare no better than the Vigilant. And he'll drag in his guards and that mysterious new cousin of mine that I've yet to meet. I'd rather she not die uselessly before then."

"I'll think of something."

"Damn. Speak of the daedroth and here he comes. Good luck, love. Gelebor, guard that door. No one gets in until I get back. Argis, Arven, back him up. Calder, you too if your thane permits."

She dropped a kiss on Revyn's cheek and ran off.

Revyn sighed and conjured a smile as he turned to meet the new arrivals. "Good morning, my lord Justiciar! No Talos worshippers here."

* * *

• **Mary Muir** — _Thank you. Good development reminder points. • fitness: sorry, I was unclear about the measures I had in mind, e.g., reg. fit (can run up a dozen flight of stairs) vs Skyrim Hero fit (can run the 911 Tower Challenge, 110 floors, with 100-200 pounds of armor and gear) • Age: Right. I'm not handling the age thing between husband and wife as gracefully on paper as I have in mind. I'll work on that. I blame all those period romances I read when I was younger where all those older upper-class men looked for young, trainable brides "just out of the schoolroom" and used patronizing and dismissive language, even the ones who were suppose to be truly in love. • falmer storyline: well, the other story I've started to run, "2nd Life" is going to pick up this once Gelebor gets to Winterhold. Bats and Owls unite!_

 _ **•**_ **GalacticHalfling** _— I haven't found any canon on the falmer. I've always wondered why the bat adorned the falmer armor then I figured it was like Companion armor. The bat was a totem of their nature. So I looked for bat spirit totems [whats dash your dash sign dot com]. And again, the "Eyes of the Falmer" thieves guild questline and the dwemer's deliberate blinding. Why blind the falmer slaves? All these hits on "eyes" and "falmer." As for Vyrthur's ability to affect the scrolls…_


	51. Prince of Plots

_A/N: "Boethiah's Proving," I've always felt this book is a recent development. After all, it ends with an invitation to go to Windhelm for initiation. Why would a dunmer-based religion of thousands of years suddenly base its only proving ground in Windhelm if this wasn't an offshoot cult branch?_

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Prince of Plots**

"I'm sure you would prefer ale or mead, but I think tea is what you need. Medicinal. It will help with some of your body aches." Revyn put the cup down in front of his reluctant guest.

Logrolf, priest of Boethiah, took a reluctant sip. "Boiled weeds," he muttered. Nevertheless, he drank and was not about to admit to the dunmer that his stomach was finally accepting something. All the healing potions they'd been pouring into him had mended his torn flesh and shattered bones, but it left his stomach queasy and a general, all over body ache from the unnatural speed healing.

Nicky and Athis had found him at the Red Eagle redoubt where he'd dragged himself after fighting off a hunting pair of sabercats. The forsworn there had initially taken him prisoner until they could figure if he was a friend or foe, and were happy to hand him over to Nicky, Hircine's champion. The boys had poured their supply of healing potions in him and had brought him to Vlindrel Hall and dumped him on Revyn and were presently in the Warrens to collect his meager belongings from the hole of a room he rented there.

"You're not doing all this out of the kindness of your heart. Why have you brought me here?"

"As you say, not kindness," answered Revyn, unruffled. He sat down and sipped at his tea. "I sent letters out to you regarding your abandoned home and about the Vigilant of Stendarr who was showing too much interest in it. Did none of those letters get to you?"

"Yes. Your forsworn couriers found me."

"And?" Revyn prompted. When the priest only scowled, Revyn said patiently, "Was offering the assistance of the Champions of Hircine and Malacath an insult or beneath you? There was no disrespect to you. You've warded that shrine well for decades. The personal animosity of the Prince of Domination is testimony to that. He specifically named you to my wife as the only sacrifice worthy to win his favor and his Mace.

"Bah. Hircine's dogs are trained to heel to their master and the Dark Mistress has already tested and found wanting Malacath's strength."

Revyn sighed. "Nicky is no dog. I would think you would know a werewolf, if not by sight then by smell. He won Hircine's favor by daring to side with the hunted and by killing all the hunters gathered for their Bloodmoon hunt, and he but a beardless boy then. And if you will not respect Malacath, then have you heard of Helsette Faro, Thane of Markarth, Morthal, and Solitude, she who wielded the Bow of Auri-El against the Volkihar Vampires? Decry her weakness if you dare."

The priest's eyes slid away from Revyn's glare.

"Come," said Revyn, relaxing, coaxing. "I am hoping you are not like those fools at Boethiah's shrine in Windhelm. They are an embarrassment. Do you know them? My wife once went to them to learn about their faith. To ask why followers of that shrine wandered the land, challenging all they come across to battles to the death whether they be bandits, soldiers, merchants, or farmhands working the fields. They would not speak to her unless she bound a victim to their pillar of sacrifice and spilled blood. When she refused, they insulted her and called her weak and worthless. When those cultists slew one innocent too many and then attacked her, she went to their shrine and slew all of them in combat. All their massed swords against her lone sword. And she has done this twice."

Although, he reflected silently, the Prince won no favors by continuing to demand a sacrifice even after all her followers had been slain.

"They deserved it!" Logrolf declared, eyes alight with anger and disgust. "If they battled for their own personal glory rather than hers, they deserved it. I and my brothers and sisters hunted and slew vampires and those who preyed upon those weaker. Our purpose is battle; not slaughter. By what perversion of faith do they perform thus?"

Revyn had Argis, who hovered discreetly in the background, fetch the book "Boethiah's Proving" which Icewind had actually bought from a bookseller when he'd learned that it was a Boethiah priest who'd been warding the haunted house. He'd been disappointed that the book offered no insights as to why one daedra god opposed another. Revyn couldn't really explain it to him either except to say it just was. When the book was presented to Logrolf, the man just stared at it before tossing it aside. Revyn frowned at that but suddenly had a notion that the man may not be able to read.

He picked up the book and began reading aloud, "On a certain day, at a certain time, the faithful gathered to perform certain rituals..."

When he finished reading the book, Logrolf said, "We are all tested. The condition of blood is met by being the last one standing. The fools who wrote that put a condition that I do not understand. I do not hear anywhere in that story the explicit demand that a sacrifice be tied up like a goat for slaughter. The last one to die in that book may have been caught by surprise, but hardly helpless.

"We who worship her in the Reach do not demand that the slaughter of the helpless be a condition of faith. I do not know who perverted proper worship. Life is always moving, always the fight for the next meal, the next advantage. Life is hard, and the trials must be judged, endured, and reflected upon with due care and vigilance. A careless life is not worth living. And in combat sacrifices of friends and allies are often made. We understand that."

"That is quite Redoran," said Revyn, laughing lightly. "Were you a soldier once?"

"A mercenary, yes. Being a priest of Boethiah isn't paid position. I sold my sword arm, killed who I needed, and collected the rewards I needed to keep fighting her enemies. Then I got old, yet I do what I can and what I must. And for the last decade I've warded that foul shrine and twice a year rededicate that altar to Boethiah.

"I don't know you dark elf folk. But the Dark Mistress was here with the People, before the aldmeri came.

"And the world and times breaks the mighty aldmeri and the Dark Mistress takes an interest in a discontent and dissatisfied group of rebels who disdain the soft ways of those calling themselves 'altmer.' She offers them a new way of life, a new expression of power, and they accept and call themselves the 'chimer.' She and like-minded daedra take these new elves away. But for all that, she remains a power in the Reach.

"I don't know the ceremonies you dark elves worship her by; I only know the teachings passed down in the Reach."

"Fascinating. The differences in philosophies — yours, the beliefs of my Ashlander kin, and the cult in Eastmarch. Yet I suppose it should not be unexpected for the Prince of Plots to have alternatives available for flexibility upon which to act. Contingencies of war. A pity there will be no time to discuss this in-depth with other scholars of the faith," said Revyn with genuine regret. "My people are relearning the faiths of our great and dreadful Ancestors and I can't help but think the history of the original, non-dunmer worshippers would be invaluable. Do you have any books or scrolls you could point me to?"

"I've not seen any in decades," Logrolf said a touch reluctantly. "I learned from the stories of my teachers, as told around campfires in the long wait between campaigns. I never needed to learn to read because there were no books to be read, and the few times I've seen scrolls...," he shrugged, "those were lost with their owners. Our sect has died to attrition; forgotten, as ashes in the wind. No one seeks her altars. It's been difficult to find students eager to learn or who has survived the battle long enough to take over from me."

Then suddenly he rallied and gave Revyn a smile worn only by those standing at the precipice with one foot lifted to step into the void. "How convenient you come offering me the chance of one last glorious battle against the King of Corruption."

"You earned it," Revyn assured him with a smile.

"Your wife, her reputation is formidable. Everyone in the Reach has heard of Markarth's newest thane. The forsworn call her 'Little Worldeater.' Black as death and whose shout makes the voice of the Nord Bear the milk mewling of a kitten. I've been as far as Solitude, mer, and I've heard the nonsense that the dunmer thane of Solitude is naught but the mere half-sister of the Dragonborn. I'm not fooled by that laughable lie."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"This is in flagrant disregard of the Concordat! I demand—"

"What way does this violate the Concordat?" Revyn calmly countered, unruffled by the Chief Justiciar's anger. He walked to place himself between the throne and the Thalmor. "This is not Talos worship. And while I agree the presence of a hidden cult of Molag Bal may be interpreted as a threat to the interests of the Dominion, it is, in fact, a threat to all in this city and beyond. The Jarl has entrusted the matter to Thane Faro. She is perfectly capable of handling this matter as she has handled the Volkihar Vampire matter. Another affair which the Dominion was well aware of and yet offered no assistance."

"Help was available. But our aid was not requested," said the Chief Justiciar, stiffly.

"You needed an invitation to fight another attempted invasion by Molag Bal? You did not see hordes of infected nords and possibly the imperial legion stationed in Skyrim as sufficient threat to the Dominion? You were perhaps hoping the vampires would take out the Emperor as he was touring the land as you could not take him during the Battle of Red Ring? What would it take for the Dominion to involve itself? When the first anchor dropped for another Planemeld?

"I wonder at your alliances considering you were the Volkihar neighbor when you had, hm, a delegation temporarily occupying the fortress of Northkeep. You were in sight of Castle Volkihar yet no word, no warning of that nest occupying that island. Not even a token offering of any observations your people may have made of the inhabitants there. The Dominion long maintains that 'ignorance is no excuse' for failure to adhere to the tortuous terms of the Concordat. Do you claim your officers at Northkeep were in absolute ignorence of the nature of their neighbors? If there are any violations of the Concordat, I submit it is the Thalmor who make them."

"How dare you! You would do best to stay out of matters that do not concern you, dunmer! It has become evident for some time that Morrowind has been seeking to infiltrate Skyrim ever since they lost their own battles against the foul daedra they worship and their slaves revolted. The Telvanni have taken Morthal and the Indoril have taken the Rift, even to making themselves the guardians of the orphans of Skyrim. The Dominion is not fooled by Morrowind's campaign to conquer Skyrim."

"Oh, my. You know too much. I'm afraid you'll have to die." Revyn laughed loudly and scornfully as the Thalmor's hands came up glowing with power. "Too easy, Chief Justiciar. You are fortunate First Emissary Lady Elenwen is not here to witness your lack of control." The laughter of the court of nords did not help the Thalmor's temper. He spat out a thoroughly inadequate request to withdraw and left without waiting for the Jarl's response.

Revyn pivoted about and bowed deeply to the Jarl. "I beg pardon for speaking out of turn, my Jarl, and for this latest unseemly display of personal ill-will between the Thalmor and myself. My wife's family has long opposed the Thalmor and the Concordant. The Dominion knows they are enemies. The number of Thalmor assassins sent after my wife and her family is beyond annoying."

Icewind, standing besides the Jarl, bent and whispered something to the Jarl, who laughed and said, "I see. Well, perhaps after this matter of Molag Bal's shrine is taken care of it would be best if you returned to Windhelm where Jarl Ulfric can keep you too busy to provoke the Dominion representative we reluctantly must host in our court for now." Steward Raerek whispered something in his other ear. "I still expect you to do your job of wife-finding. Damn inconvenient you being Windhelm's steward."

"Sincere apologies again, my Jarl."

"Yes, yes. Now, when do you plan on finishing off this Molag Bal matter?"

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Gelebor is a knight-paladin, a very high-level temple guardian for Akatosh. He will stand outside with Meridia's sword. When the time is right he will channel his power through the artifact of the Prince of Infinite Energies, and by her power will Coldharbour again be breached.

"My wife will pass to you Goldbrand, the Dragon champion's sword, now Boethiah's sword. When you feel your will begin to bend to His, use the sword. Your death will allow Boethiah Herself to act through your body.

"What makes you think the Dark Mistress will manifest?"

"Because, despite Molag Bal trying to break your will, you were in the act of consecrating his alter to her, right?" Revyn challenged. "In defiance of his will, his wrath, you were doing your job, right? You were invoking Her presence even as he violated your mind and heart with unbearable feelings of fear, despair, hopelessness and helplessness, right?

"My wife stands beside you. By this time he will have given her that rusty mace in expectation that she will do his will and beat you into bloody submission as had been done with all previous sacrifices. My wife is stubborn beyond belief at times and she knows there's nothing he can offer her that she cannot gain through her own efforts. Her defiance and yours will push him into such imprudent fury that he will attempt to manifest in what he believes is his little pocket of Oblivion. Boethiah will be unable to resist answering such a challenge.

"Make your death count and let your body be her weapon to destroy his hovel of a temple that has been a canker sore upon the Reach. Consider the delicious irony as my wife reclaims Goldbrand from your body and places in your hands Molag Bal's own Vampire Mace. Through you Boethiah will smash his altar even as Meridia's power, through Akatosh's knight-paladin, severs the connection of his temple to his domain. His roars of impotent fury will echo as you take your Attribution's Share."

Logrolf's eyes seemed to glow as he envisioned the event. Then he blinked and refocused his eyes on Revyn, who sat there sipping his tea as if nothing had been said. "That's a very tempting fantasy you weave," he said dryly, "but you cannot be sure that either the Corruptor or the Dark Mistress will act as you say."

"Actually, I am certain they will. Daedra, for all their fickleness as Lords of Change, are beings of habit. Why should they change their habits when dealing with creatures beneath them and who are of no threat to them whatsoever? Say a neighbor oversteps the fence and threatens your cattle, do you beat the dumb animals for being threatened or do you rush to confront the neighbor? Would you ever suspect that your cattle deliberately plotted to provoke the other property owner?

"In this scenario, you are the irksome guar that has clawed a hole in the fence and sticks its head through to eat gourds on the neighbor's property. He specifically resents you. But you still do not belong to him and he tries to get some lackey to do the dirty work for him, a lackey he can throw over to your irate owner to take her anger.

"But, the lackey was already in alliance with your owner. Or, at least, one of your owner's friends. In this case, Azura. My wife is also Azura's Champion. Azura is not actively hostile to Molag Bal, but she owes him no favors."

"In any case, the Vampire Mace requires blood before it can be taken from that shrine. My wife will likely return by the end of this week. Use this time to fortify yourself for your final battle. Whether you die as Molag Bal's battered chew toy or as Boethiah's favored warrior is up to you." Revyn rose and gestured to a doorway to his right. "That is the enchantments room. I've set up a small house shrine in there dedicated to the Great Ancestors. The symbols are dunmer, but I'm sure you will recognize Boethiah's marks. Feel free to pray or not. If you have a particular request needs, please let Argis know."

* * *

• _Aurora Nova: Wow. Thank you. For myself, I've had equally sad feelings for Vyrthur presuming that he and Gelebor had initially similar natures and devotion to their god and people. Something had to keep Vyrthur in place instead of leading a vampire army of falmer out of the Vale and into the world._  
 _• GalacticHalfling: Spill blood of course. "Today is a good day to die."_


	52. Assassin, pt1

_A/N: I have no idea if the M/T keeps a "no-kill" list. Couldn't find any reference so in absence of fact, I'm making it up._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Assassin, pt.1**

The assassin's body was hung upside-down from the rafters over the counter. A large kettle from the kitchen had been thoughtfully placed under the body to catch the blood (now cold and congealing) that had flowed from the slit throat. The original Writ for the assassination of Revyn Sadri had a newer note attached to it that stated: "This false writ has been invalidated by the true Morag Tong. Praise Mephala."

"A distinct style change in the seal," said Revyn, tracing the triangular background that had been added.

"Necessary to distinguish ourselves from the false tong that maintains its loyalty to the ALMSIVI and to gold," said the assassin who stood passively among guards surrounding her. It had taken no effort to find her. Per ancient rules, once she had completed her kill she had stayed in place and then had surrendered all her weapons to the guards as soon as they'd arrived.

"So the Tong has returned then." Revyn reread the Writ to kill any assassin from the "false tong" sent after Revyn Sadri of Windhelm. "Unbind her and return her weapons."

"Are you serious? You're just letting a professed assassin go?" Mikel Anvil, the Nord commander of the Gray Guards. "Is this a Morrowind thing I should know about? 'Cuz you realize in Skyrim this is cause for execution."

"Yes, it's a 'Morrowind thing' as you put it. As long as the targets…"

"Are dunmer? No," said Mikel firmly. He looked at the assassin. "I appreciate you making it easy for me to find you, lady, but what works in Morrowind stops working once you cross the border."

"Try viewing it as 'rules of pursuit," said Avehan gently, his second. He was centuries older in years and experience, but the gray guards were mandated to have a nord commander and Avehan had chosen Mikel, a stubborn young man from the regular guards. "Acting as a law officer from Morrowind she pursued a killer across borders to stop him from murdering or committing an illegal act against a respected citizen and officer of the court of Windhelm. And if, indeed, she follows the path of the original Tong, she is law enforcement for one of our gods."

"One of… Oh, let me guess, that'd be Mephala then, the one with secret murders as part of her domain. Right?" Mikel said sourly.

"I don't suppose you can tell me whose money is behind the, hm, the false Writ?" asked Revyn.

The assassin shrugged. "Not my concern. A False Writ has been issued on you and my mission is to deny its fulfillment."

"I can live with that," said Revyn, smiling. "Mikel, please, return her weapons." He looked at the assassin, saying apologetically, "Please convey to your superiors that the commander's words are correct; the Tong's status as Mephala's hand will not be accepted in Skyrim. I thank you for my life and the warning, but…"

The assassin did not acknowledge that but said instead, "You have a category all your own, sedura. The True Morag Tong accepts no contracts on you and will continue to deny the false tong's fulfillment of theirs." That drew a gasp from knowledgeable watchers. It didn't mean he was immune to assassination attempts, it just meant the Morag Tong wouldn't accept any contracts on his life.

Corporal Mikel scowled. "So the responsible god is Mephala and not Sithis. I still don't get what makes her different than the Brotherhood."

"Forgive him, please," said Avehan, now looking alarmed and stepping between Mikel and the assassin. "He's still learning. No insult was intended." The assassin nodded stiffly.

"Alright. Fine. Here are your weapons," said Mikel, scowling. He held his hand out to Revyn. "Mind if I keep the writs? Just so I have a reference in case something like it shows up in the future. Thank you." He turned away and started directing his men to take down the body and haul out the kettle of blood.

Watching the assassin hide all those weapons about her body was chilling to watch. That many long, sharp objects shouldn't just disappear so easily.

The assassin slipped away and the lobby was cleared. Revyn went back upstairs to get his bathrobe and clothes for the day and then back down the stairs to the bathing/laundry chamber in the basement. "Good morning. You missed the excitement," he told Sorayn Girith, who was exiting the room after having finished his own bath.

"Sedura?"

"You'll hear everything about it when you get upstairs. Dana will bring breakfast down in an hour. Please join us in my office and we can go over today's schedule."

"Your office... I don't believe I know what room that is. Ser Dana has not yet shown me that part of your home."

Revyn smiled, hiding the touch of nervousness he felt. "Yes, ah, well, it's time you got familiar with it then. I don't store public or general legal records there, only personal matters, but I do prefer it for privacy." Sorayn nodded and went upstairs wearing a look that hinted he was going directly to Dana for answers. Revyn wasn't worried; Dana could handle anything.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

Elani released Revyn from their mutual hug and they both went to a side table where food that Ambarys had brought had been laid out. They got their plates and then sat down at the glass-top dwemer table in Revyn's office. Ambarys poured a round of firebrand windwine he'd brought from his bar. "How was your journey back?" Elani asked.

"Thankfully uneventful," said Revyn. "I had plenty of time to read up on all the events in your letters and the reports Ambarys and Dana sent me."

"While you sent nothing of yours!" Elani pouted. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Of course I would come. We need to get you back to work right away. No more lazing about in your luxurious dwemer tower and counting your silver."

"Oh, how I wish it had been that relaxing."

"Oh, we know that. Why else would the Jarl tell Ambarys and me to just 'handle it' when he summoned us to tell us that your stay in Markarth had been extended.

"But you eat and let us tell you about my cousin Sorayn, your new magistrate, and your new housemaid, Ruveyana, and a few other details. After we're done, you can tell us what in Markarth kept you away half a year."

First, minor details. The stairs to the second level of his home had been rebuilt in the kitchen so that those living upstairs could get to the laundry and washroom without having to go through the former shop areas that were now public offices. The Selvaai had moved out to a spacious loft in the warehouse Elani owned and had finished converting into separate living units to rent to people needing homes.

Ruveyana was easy enough. A young woman of mixed ashlander and Redoran blood had come to Raven Rock along with a group of Redorans cousins seeking work. But she had no taste for mining and had heard of more diverse opportunities in Windhelm and so had come here. She found Elani's community hall and began looking at the lists of job postings and had latched onto Elani's post looking for a housemaid and office cleaner for Sadri. One would think it an easy position to fill because Sadri paid well, but for the ghosts. Either people were too scared to apply or those that did were driven out by the ghosts as untrustworthy, according to Dana. Thieves or spies was her vague explanation. Elani had to accept that because Dana had assured her one of the ghosts was Dana's own ancestor and that was what he'd said.

Ruveyana had impressed both of them on her interview date. The first thing the girl did when she entered the place was to make prayers and offerings to the Guardians that resided within. She'd heard the rumors and had come prepared with the proper ceremonies.

Revyn recalled catching a glimpse of the pretty young girl this morning as she was briskly sweeping the public waiting room of dirt and snow slush that had been tracked in. He looked forward to meeting her and finding out more about her ashland connection.

Now a more serious addition made to Revyn's governing staff. Elani was surprised to receive a letter from a cousin of her grandsire's generation, Sorayn, 500-year-old wizard, expressing to her he had heard much of the developments in Windhelm's Gray Quarter and asking if there was need for one of his talents; it seemed he had at long last grown disillusioned with his place in Temple service and wished to be of use in the secular world. She only knew him as an occasional attendant at family gatherings. A very imposing mer even when he'd put aside his robes and armor of office for plain scholar's robes. It had seemed suspiciously fortuitous timing now that Dana was on the hunt for a magistrate candidate for the Gray Quarter.

When the Jarl had summoned Ambarys and Elani to the palace to tell them that Sadri was going to be staying longer in Markarth and that they would just have to deal with any problems in the Quarter, they were understandably upset. Once back in the Quarter Ambarys had huddled with the Gray Guards officers to inform them of yet more delays in the legal process and come up with workarounds. Elani had gone to Dana Mirasdottir, Sadri's nord administrative assistant, to tell her of the Jarl's "deal with it" attitude; the nord had immediately gone to the palace. She fiercely argued that there were matters that couldn't wait until Sadri's return and that there were legal matters and decisions that needed attending to. So if the Jarl insisted on sending Sadri off on missions for indeterminate lengths of time, then they needed a dedicated magistrate to handle that duty for Sadri. And once she'd brow-beaten Ulfric into creating the office of magistrate for the Gray Quarter, she'd left it to Elani and Ambarys to find candidates.

Elani presented her cousin's letter, explaining his duties as a former ordinator of the Order of the Watch. More than a temple soldier, he'd functioned as the internal legal counsel in the Watch and coordinator between the offices of Inquisition, of War, and of Doctrine and Ordination. It would be nothing for him to assimilate the laws of the nords to execute judgment on backlogged cases.

"He sounds too damn good to be true," grumbled Dana. "You sure he'd settle for being a magistrate in a slum and having his judgment questioned daily by my ice-brained countrymen, not to mention having to answer to a rich Hlaalu merchant who can't seem to keep out of trouble?

"And if he's as smart as you say, Elani, how long before he realized the Dragonborn aspect? How would he react? Or, I suppose the mischief of Revyn and his wife would be 'usual business' for a former servant of living gods," she grumbled, answering herself.

And so Sorayn Girith was invited to come to Windhelm and take on the magistrate's duties. As expected, he'd jumped feet-first into his new duties and cutting through the backlog. He'd relied mostly on Morrowind law, but the nords didn't really care what law was executed in the Gray Quarter so long as that law was reserved for the dunmer, which was all that his office was authorized to handle.

Now for information they didn't dare put in the letters or reports.

Sorayn had brought the news that Sadri of Windhelm was of great interest to many parties in Morrowind ever since he'd filed his updated lineage papers with the Temple in Solstheim.

Legate Gaius Felix was still remembered in Mournhold as the friend of the Nerevarine and the man that had stolen away King Helseth's cousin and mistress. Furthermore, until the lineage papers had been filed, no one had known the Felix-Mede connection. And then the recent, curious events in Solstheim that led to Helseth's female namesake being adopted into both Telvanni and Redoran Houses. It was an unsettling echo of the Nerevarine's path. Now that it was being talked about in Morrowind, the Hlaalu of Cheydinhal felt free to talk of how they had known all along that General Innana Faro Felix of the Legion was a full-blood dunmer of King Helseth's siring, not Felix's.

Sorayn Girith had verified all the connections as demanded by the House Sadras representative he had been obliged to work with by orders of the current Temple Arch-Canon.

Sorayn did not like working with House Sadras. The Sadras was as pro-Morrowind as Redoran and Indoril could have hoped for, but suddenly gaining all of Hlaalu's wealth and holdings without having to fight for it had brought out in this ashlander tribe a certain grasping, materialistic quality of the suddenly-rich. The Sadras had fought alongside the Redoran battling Oblivion Gates, but then so had other ashlanders when it came down to dunmeri survival. It was their cooperation with the Indoril and willingness to accept the faltering temple, thus giving the temple new legitimacy, which won the Indoril vote to the empty Council chair Hlaalu had been forcefully vacated from.

The other ashlander tribes no longer recognized Sadras as ashlanders. Perhaps it was unfair, but to Sorayn's ears, the Sadras was too much the uncertain, overcompensating shrilling of one given a position he knows he did not earn. And putting them front and center and directly between the Empire and the rest of Morrowind — a role they had not volunteered for unlike the Hlaalu — had done them no favors.

In any case, through all his study of Sadri's lineage papers he'd realized there was developments in Skyrim that was effecting a future for the dunmer and that Sadri and the Felixes were at the heart of it. His instincts told him it was his duty to be there. And so he wrote to a young cousin he remembered who now lived in Skyrim and who had written home to tell them how her fortunes were looking up in the cold land of the nords.

Revyn was very quiet as he contemplated the very dangerous mer now living in his house. It was no secret to his friends that he wasn't comfortable with ordinators for having lost kin to them when the temple sent occasional purge parties into the ashlands.

Elani knew what her friend was thinking and said, "Cousin Sorayn was never directly involved in those purges. The ordinators that went into the ashlands came from Vivec's temples. My cousin spent most of his career on the mainland and in Mournhold, serving Almalexia. He was way too valuable as a negotiator and peacemaker to be inducted into the Hands where he would have been wasted as a mere shield of the goddess."

"But why move him into my house?"

"Because it was more convenient for Dana as she instructed him in Skyrim's ways. Because the Guardians could look him over. The nord spirits would be quick to tell if he had any hostile intent. Your own ancestors, well, I hope you'll tell me what they say about him after you've consulted them," said Elani. "He'd sensed the tomb guardians as soon as he'd crossed your threshold. He's also sensed your ancestral shrine though he doesn't know where it's located since Dana hasn't yet shown him your private office. Your place was also the best and quickest way we could get people here to accept him. If the ghosts vetted him, then there's no reason anyone shouldn't trust him."

"Nord ghosts, not dunmer."

"Only you, me, and handful know that," drawled Ambarys.

"And they really aren't here to safeguard the Quarter, just the wayshrine stone," said Revyn.

"And you. You're a wayshrine priest whether you like it or not, because you'd have to be to have the stone," said Ambarys. "That's the bargain we made so they didn't kill us." Revyn made a wordless gesture of surrender. A misadventure a little over three years ago had Delphine the Blade kidnapping him to deal with these selfsame ghosts. Ambarys had gotten involved by taking it on himself to rescue Revyn and had tracked the party into the Rift and to a long-lost cavern the Ebonheart Alliance had hid from the Akaviri invaders 800 years ago. It ended with the nord guardians coming home with him while the other dunmer guardians destroyed the cavern/tomb of the former shrine before they'd left for Oblivion.

"Look at it this way," said Elani. "He's old enough to remember when traveling by shrines and teleport platforms were common. He may be able to help you if you have questions. I would think you'd rather deal with him than Master Neloth when you have to deal with the old magic and the temple magic of Morrowind. He's not a master wizard, but what he doesn't know I'm sure he knows how to find."

"In any case," said Ambarys, "we need him for the Quarter. He's been a gods-send in getting legal matters cleared up. I think Ulfric's just waiting for your approval before ordering his court to start cooperating more with nord cases.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

Revyn finished toweling off his hair and casually tossed the towel over the clothes pole in the corner behind his office door.

"Breakfast, sedura," called Ruveyana, just coming down the stairs and carrying a large tray of food and drink. Revyn turned and plucked off the heavy carafe to help with the load. Strong, black tea from the Colovian Highlands imported by Cousin Flora who was trying her hand at growing tea in the Rift. Nords weren't big tea drinkers, but she was hoping to change that. She had some idea that the Rift's unique mix of ash and mountain streams could create a unique flavor profile if she could get the plants to grow.

He noted how the housemaid bowed her head as she passed the house shrine. "I'm told you're part ashlander. Which tribe?" he asked.

"Sadras, sedura," she told him honestly, facing him after she set down the tray. "My elders sent me here. They'd learned you had a weakness for pretty girls and hoped I could get closer to you, perhaps get taken on as an apprentice."

"My, you're quite forthright about this," said Revyn, nonplussed.

"The Guardians will kill me if I am not truthful to you." She shrugged. "My grandmother is a shaman and I've had a little training, enough to be aware and to know when to speak straight with Guardians."

"What type of apprenticeship were you angling for?"

"Whatever came up. But I'm happy to serve as a housemaid as long as I can watch you and learn from you. I promise I'll work hard and serve as honestly as if you were an elder of my own tribe."

"What do you hope to learn?"

"Whatever I can. How you deal with nords and other outlanders, how you wage war off the battlefield, how your people are thriving in this hostile land — lessons of survivors, sedura. Sadras is a new House and we're expected to take over Hlaalu's responsibilities with the outlanders along with the lands and wealth. Hlaalu appears to be thriving and we need to know how you're doing it."

"And why should I help House Sadras?"

"Even if Hlaalu is no longer a Great House, you're still a House in Morrowind, serjo. Mutual benefits?"

"Call me 'sedura,' if you must. I am not a noble or any House Father of the Sadri. The main House line died when the argonians invaded Narsis. How old are you, ser?"

"26, sedura."

"Hm."

"I know I'm young, but it was decided that it would be better to send a spy who was young enough not to be immediately be suspected as such. And I am considered advanced for my age.

"I normally wouldn't be telling you all of this, but no one had expected true Guardian spirits. We had heard of ghosts but thought it mere hauntings because you weren't known to be a shaman. As I said, I only got this far because of my grandmother's insistence on teaching her children and grandchildren the basics of her craft. If not for that, I expect I would have been driven off like all the others."

"I appreciate your honesty, Ruveyana. I'll have to think this over. At the very least you will write your elders and have them make a proper request and negotiation for training."

"As you say, sedura." She made a slight bow and left, deftly swerving around Sorayn and Dana who had just come in. She stopped, however, when Sorayn held up his hand. "Serjo?"

"Your full name, girl," he said flatly.

"Sadras Ruveyana Dareano."

"Dareano. The governor of Narsis."

"My uncle, serjo."

"Be about your duties, then."

Sorayn stepped further into the room, sweeping his gaze around and noting the shrine, the many, various magical and daedric items, the use of dwemer interior lighting and pieces of dwemer furniture, the overall palate of colors reflective of the ashlands of northern Vvardenfell and the draping of ashland cloth and banners that softened hard lines of the structure. His eyes lingered on Sheogorath's Wabbajack being used as a laundry pole, but he said nothing as he joined Revyn and Dana in filling a plate for breakfast.

"Narsis. The former holding of House Sadri," said Sorayn.

"Yes," Revyn acknowledge. "How much did you hear?"

"Practically all of it," said Dana. She glanced at Sorayn. "Well, you did warn us the Sadras were interested. That was fast."

"Dareano's action. He's not part of the Sadras House Council by choice because he has no patience for the insecure bickering there. He still acts as an independent war chief. Redoran and Indoril don't trust him because he's proven resistant to their control. He maintains his position because he is an effective counter to the occasional forays of argonians continually testing our determination to reclaim the southern lands. His people also guard the lands at the Stonefalls passage and are the first to have to deal with Imperial caravans. His desire to learn more about outlander trade is understandable. He continues to employ Hlaalu there to handle the bulk of the paperwork and controls, but I am sure he would prefer knowledgeable Sadras agents there.

"I would suggest she stay. A Dareano alliance is one of the better ones to be made," he said.

"Well, as a housemaid she's fast, diligent, and rarely needs to be told twice," said Dana. "Her cooking skills could be improved, but that's a negligible quality with the Cornerclub next door. She's very observant of people and quick to alert me of who on the staff seems unduly pressured, who's been lifting a touch too many office supplies, and to alert guards on which customers needed watching. She was the first to come upon the Morag Tong hanging up the other assassin and was quick with fetching the pot to catch the blood. The screaming you heard that woke you was from one of the early morning clerks. I'd hate to lose her as a housemaid. The Guardians chased off dozens of applicants."

Dana eyed him shrewdly. "Finding spies in one's home is not pleasant. But, is there something else that disturbs you?"

"Well, just what sort of reputation am I developing? Do I come across as the type of man who preys on young, pretty girls?"

Dana shrugged. "So? I'm sure there are boys out there willing to be your apprentice. Young Savela has been doing very well with little instruction from you this past year. I'd say she's well past apprenticeship, especially as we all know she's really not that interested in going any further as a merchant but would rather work with her mother and her aunt to build a future in a restaurant. It's high time she be released from her apprenticeship contract and you take on more appropriate apprentices chosen for political advantage.

"Like the jarls did in the past, though not lately with all the civil conflicts. But jarls would often send their children to page at friendly courts to be instructed and even disciplined for their role as future leaders even as lesser nobility would send their children up to their jarl's court for the same. So take on Ruveyana and get an advantage with the Sadras like I know you can. I could even find you a couple of young nords training in diplomacy who would be delighted to get some initial experience in a foreign court without having to leave Skyrim. Gods know diplomats need bargaining skills and need to know the basics of trade. I have in mind young men, not little girls. And any new apprentices need not live under your roof so there should be no problems with the Guardians.

The proposal was a logical step but Revyn found his shoulders hunching defensively. He wasn't sure he was ready for such a step. "I'll have to think about this," he repeated. "Ruveyana's fine to stay as a housemaid and learning what she can. I'll wait to see if she actually writes to her kin and see if they want to bring it in the open and bargain in good faith. And if it comes to that, I'll probably be faced with angry opinions by others of House Hlaalu."

"You will likely be set on by the survivors of the Hlaalu Council," murmured Sorayn, not looking at him, appearing to be involved in spreading jazbay grape jam on a toasted roll. "I am actually surprised they have not been pressuring you to become one of the house fathers. You have all the necessary requirements to take such a position."

"Not the grand estate, not the town founding," countered Revyn. "Stewardship of the Gray Quarter does not meet the requirement, and the properties belong to my wife as thane in other Holds. None of those prove wealth-building on city scale."

Sorayn shrugged. "Exception to prove the rule," he said and added, "Only Mephala herself can order her black hands to keep off you, even protect you in their own way," and left it at that, like a dead skeever dropped onto the center of the table.

Revyn refused to touch that. "Let's talk about today's schedule. I, of course, have to go to the palace to discuss matters with the Jarl. What immediate concerns should I be bringing to him?"

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Godsdammit! Two in one day and it's not even noontime!" roared Mikel. Guards bundled off the two pieces of yet another dead assassin. He held his hand out and the Morag Tong handed him another writ. "Any ideas yet, sir— Sedura..." he corrected after prompting by one the other guards, "...of who wants you dead?" He made a noise of frustration as Revyn merely shrugged. "Alright, here's your stuff back," he said to the assassin and gestured for her weapons to be returned to her. He gave one last glare of resentment at Revyn before taking himself off.

Revyn wasn't unaware of the two guards trying to trail him at a discreet, but useless, distance. If there was another assassination attempt, they'd be too far to be of any help. He appreciated the thought anyway.

The rest of day was spent with Ulfric, debriefing him on the events in Markarth. He was curious about his new goddess and amused by the lingering task to find Jarl Ignmund a Reach bride. As expected, Ulfric was not pleased that the Reach would soon declare itself independent of Skyrim and of the Empire. But he would consider dislodging the Dominion's foothold a benefit, if a costly one. Stormcloak forces in the Reach would be ordered to escort those Nords wishing to leave the Reach. Some funds would be put aside for limited resettlement assistance. He was already receiving messages from the nord nobles there who wanted to know what Ulfric was going to do.

What he intended to do was promote Thane Icewind to Stormcloak ambassador to the Reach and send him funds so that he could move out of Vlindrel Hall and set up an embassy. That should make Ulfric's position on this matter clear and make another Markarth statement to the Empire and the rest of the world.

Now the assassins. Competing factions within an assassin's guild wasn't something Ulfric wanted to hear. Ulfric needed Revyn working with Jorlief and Thane Gilder on tax issues and revenue schemes so the Morag Tong will have to play "pin the Writ on the dunmer" with somebody else. And regardless if Revyn felt he'd be safer in his own home, it was more convenient for Ulfric to have him closer at hand so for now Revyn would be staying in the palace.

Non-negotiable.

* * *

 _TheArchmage1 : Mortak Kombat theme song? LOL. Perfect. To the Tournment of Ten Bloods then! And even the voice is right for male version of Boethiah._

 _GalacticHalfling : Yup. Who's the right "Christian"cult? Lutherans, Anglicans, Catholics, Baptists...? Or, as Vivec would say, "Let's compare our spears."_

 _L0rkhan **:** 2nd Era alliance = Last night's bedsheets. I believe Azura is as fickle and inconstant as suits her and any other Daedra, the lords of change. It was why the dunmeri originally switched from the original Three to the promise of the Almsivi; they were sick of the changing whimsies of the Daedra and the constant warring. Molag Bal was an ally of convenience. I reasoned that the dunmeri by now have been trained by the Tribunal to regard Molag Bal as an enemy/House of Trouble so it's not good PR for the Mother of Roses to continue any further association. Besides, what's he done for her lately? Followers and their souls are power and hers are growing since the fall of the Almsivi. She already has to share with Boethiah and Mephala so why should she share them with Molag Bal? If most of her new followers have been culturally conditioned to fear and reject Molag Bal, wouldn't she be wise to drop a deadweight ally? Especially one who'd happily kill all her followers and then tell her to "suck it" (ala Vivec)._


	53. Assassin, pt2

_A/N: minor edits made to #48 City of Stone pt.5, just word changes/POV edits._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Assassin, pt.2**

"Yes, you're right, my lord; I am not interested in helping you to create strategies to arm and support Stormcloak forces in the field. My role has ever been domestic civilian affairs. You already take the majority and everybody else makes do with the scraps left by the war machine."

"And you continue to make an indecent profit," said Thane Gilder.

"What I personally make is beside the point. Or perhaps not. Have you any idea how many improvement projects I've been about to carry out for the common folk using my own coin to cover start-up costs? These projects have benefitted nords as well as dunmer. And I continue to pay all the taxes in full as the tax office can attest to. You cannot accuse me of cheating on anything if your spies are competent."

"Yes, Tax Collector Snowden is your good friend," said Gilder, "and you've been a very generous benefactor. You've managed to collect many favors and swayed many a noble's opinions with your gold."

Revyn shrugged. "I am invested in Windhelm's future. What of it? It is a House Hlaalu precept that we can only prosper when everybody prospers." He turned away from the thane and smiled blandly at their audience, Galmar and two Stormcloak officers in from the field, Kori Isokse from the Solitude camp and Kottir Red-Shoal from the Reach camp. Isokse, he remembered, was the officer who charged off with Icewind to fight the Volkihar vampires. Red-Shoal was likely resentful of him because of the Jarl's decision to withdraw from the Reach. "You already have first priority and claim to city revenues. What else is there?"

"If you are as committed to Skyrim's future as you claim..." began Gilder, purring with malevolence.

Revyn's eyes closed as he struggled with his temper. "Not under consideration. Once again, my properties and enterprises in imperial-allied holds are not Stormcloak resources."

"So your words of commitment are merely more dark elf evasions," said Galmer. Revyn didn't bother replying. He knew nothing he said would convince the general otherwise. He waited to see if they would continue to make demands or dismiss him. He was subjected to a bit more verbal abuse before they dismissed him.

Another like day as it had been for the past two weeks. Gilder and Galmar constantly harassing him to make the resources of his wife's other properties available to rebel camps. The Jarl had commanded Gilder work with him, but true cooperation was beyond his ability to command. Revyn was not going to take initiative to plan military finances though he was ordered to help support it. However, Gilder continued to propose unacceptable schemes that he had first promoted to Galmar as clear, simple solutions that a "true" Ufric Stormcloak loyalist would provide. Revyn's constant refusals were not looking good for him.

"Another failed meeting," pronounced Dana after a swift, assessing glance when he walked into the suite the Jarl had provided him during his enforced stay at the palace. She and the new magistrate of the Gray Quarter, Indoril Sorayn Girith, were seated around the suite's main table that was piled with paperwork and law books. Ruveyana, a Sadras spy posing as housemaid, and now suite attendant by Dana's maneuvering, glided up to him, took his formal outer coat while depositing a hot cup of tea in his hand before disappearing into the walk-in closet.

"They thought I should provide couriers and injured soldiers free care and board at Tel Windstad and smith services to camps in neighboring Holds."

"Oh, for the love of Talos. Gilder must be smoking some of those mushrooms you export from that swamp," Dana said with disgust. "I don't know what that man has against you. I suppose he's still upset that his spies couldn't find anything in your house that he could use against you."

"Spies, ser?" said Sorayn, arching his left eyebrow.

"Oh," said Dana, "Gilder tried to get me to do his snooping when I was first assigned to the Gray Quarter and Revyn let me stay in his house while he was away on business. I refused of course, but I knew he was fixated on the idea. But, I also didn't need his interference with my job so I, hm, carelessly lost my house key during my appointment with him. I had many dinners at the Cornerclub while his thief-spies tried to search the place."

"How many did the guardians kill?" asked Sorayn with amused interest.

"Only one. The rest fled and got royally drunk at the Cornerclub. The Gray Guards hauled the sots over to the nord side of town and left them for the regular guards to find. The one that died was trying to be clever with a silvered weapon and a scroll of banishment. Ambarys arranged for the body to be found elsewhere as the victim of a violent robbery. Something that's bound to happen if a nord is wandering the wrong alleyway at night."

"I see. Attempting to prove you an Imperial spy and agent to overthrow the Stormcloak," said Sorayn to Revyn. "I have had the pleasure of meeting Free-Winter and he told me of your suspicion of Thane Gilder's true loyalties. Free-Winter was kind enough to visit me after my own unpleasant encounter with Thane Gilder and offered me advice," he confessed.

Revyn sighed. Thane Gilder did not like Sorayn at all, likely because the ex-ordinator had joined with Ambarys and Elani in finding Gilder's spies and limiting the amount of information they could report back. Ambarys, an ex-Blade, was very good at manufacturing incidents for really troublesome spies and Sorayn was quick to set convictions and throw them into the work gangs. Chiseling and scraping out frozen sewer lines from the rich nord district usually had the spies requesting reassignment.

"Bruunwulf is a good friend to us," he said. "I have made clear to the Jarl and his court that your appointment and authority has my full support and that I have no intention of second-guessing your judgments. I hope that will minimize future unpleasantness. Steward Jorlief has assured me that he will begin to review applicable court cases with you that have been delayed."

"Thank you, sedura."

+—+—+—+—+—+

"Galmar tells me you are being obstructive," said the Jarl.

"No, my jarl. I am being uncooperative which in no way obstructs their use of funds. I am objecting to their plans to add my properties and income in other Holds to their resources to use."

"I see."

"Thane Gilder is aware I am borrowing from my other properties to support projects in Windhelm; these amounts are reimbursed as soon as is feasible. He believes greater amounts should be taken and donated for the war effort; I cannot agree nor would I even consider such action even if repayment was promised.

"Furthermore, my jarl, consider my business investments in the Quarter. I have funded the smithy which turns out weapons and armor and other necessary equipment for Stormcloak troops at prices that pay for the material, but not the crafters; the new farms levied to supply your troops, often at the cost of their own profit; the weavers and tanners and leatherworkers... I have been supporting your army by supporting the supply base. Because of my investments, many are able to continue operations in spite of the at-cost reimbursement plan Thane Gilder has imposed upon dunmer suppliers. I also continue to pay out of pocket for many basic civil services and still too many of operate on a volunteer and barter basis. We can't go on much longer.

"I will point out, my Jarl, that nord merchants, nord crafters, and nord farmers do not have the same tax burdens. We've so far choked down the reasoning that since we do not enlist in your army our gold and our production will have to serve. However, I will object to any increase in taxes. That will ruin many businesses and there goes the support for the army. I cannot continue to divert monies from my investments in other Holds. I remind you these investments are also in your allied Holds of Riften and Winterhold and the Pale.

"I have my limits, my Jarl. As it is, I am losing capital. Another year of this and the losses will be permanent."

"We all have suffered losses, steward."

"I am well aware, my Jarl, that a strong economy should never be at the cost of your soldiers' lives. A grievous mistake by Titus Mede who sold Elder Council seats to the highest bidders because the Empire was beggared by the Stormcrown Interregnum. I say this because I know the rumors that say it's only my gold that has bought me the position of steward. The ugly whispers that say you are perhaps being swayed by gold to turn a blind eye to all the dark elves flooding into Skyrim.

"But break the Gray Quarter and Windhelm's current economy will collapse to worse than what it was before. Many of the more prosperous and skilled dunmer will flee Eastmarch, if driving the dunmer out is what is truly wanted. Myself? I'll stay. I've given you that oath, for all the good it will do then. Continuing to support you would likely be the death of me at the hands of my fellow dunmer.

"I am aware Galmar considers me a two-faced traitor. I will not deny I have business dealings with the Empire; I will not deny I've been in the company of General Tullius and the Emperor himself. Neither can I deny that my wife and her family are Mede loyalists. My wife is my wife and free to make her own choices. Her family will continue to be welcome in my home. I am here in your palace at your command and I am being quite honest with you.

"And may I also say that continuing to fortify for battle while the Emperor is in Skyrim is the path of destruction. Ours. This all-or-nothing goal is doing no one any good. Money would be better spent securing our current borders and looking to our own internal growth."

"And how shall we do that when the Empire is camped within our lands and attempting to bring us back into the Empire's grasp?" asked the Jarl.

"Negotiate with the Emperor. He's in Whiterun now. Negotiate independence from the Empire and peace with those Holds who choose to remain with the Empire. Jarl Balgruuf will likely decide to stay with the Empire for now; it's still to the greater good because he will keep trade open with the Empire and Whiterun will remain neutral ground for open trading. I have no doubt if it ever comes to decide between Skyrim and the Dominion, he and the rest will choose Skyrim."

"Are you proposing to be my ambassador should I consider this action?"

"Gods no, my Jarl. I'm perfectly happy being a backroom clerk."

"Working under cover, you mean, in the shadows."

Revyn shrugged. "I know my place, my jarl."

"No, you don't. That's why there are assassins after you."

+—+—+—+—+—+

Three days later Revyn was on his way to the palace hall of records to meet with Sorayn and Dana to look over property records. Now that the Gray Quarter was showing improvements, some older nord families were pushing to re-exert ancient property claims in the Quarter in order to demand rental fees. He saw Galmar, nodded politely, and was shocked when the general suddenly rushed him and dragged him into another hallway. "Make peace with the Empire?" snarled Galmar.

"Unless our Jarl makes a bid for the Ruby Throne, there is no way he will win his war," said Revyn in the calmest tone he could manage with Galmar's hand around his throat.

"What are you saying? That's not the same madness you've been whispering into his ear, elf. Why in Oblivion should he try to take the Empire? We want nothing further to do with those milk-drinkers."

"He wears the crown of the First Empire. If he goes for the Ruby Throne, he would draw allies from other like-minded provinces with grudges against Mede and the Dominion. You Stormcloaks will have to deal with a lot of foreigners then. He has a chance of winning. For a while. The resulting empire will again be in Skyrim — until the Akaviri or the Maomar come calling. Or, likely before then, Alduin World-Eater will be flush with power from all the dying and will destroy Mundus. Fighting to withdraw from the Empire gets you no allies and you fight alone to your inevitable destruction. The Dominion wins as the largest rebel force is defeated. With the Empire's strongest fighting force — Skyrim — self-destroyed, they will re-start their holy war, millions die, and Alduin wins again. And the damned Thalmor gets a chance to realize if their belief of their long-lost divinity is real or not."

"Oblivion take you, you cowardly, poisonous—"

"Peace, my friend," interrupted Thane Gilder, suddenly emerging from a room. The look he gave Revyn was unreadable. "As pleasant as it would be to throw the elf off the highest tower would be, I still need him to finish rewriting next year's tax structure and closing loopholes — most of which he's exploited. Then there's the matter of his wife, our trade partners in Morrowind, the displeasure of Morthal's jarl and the High Queen, and the Dragonborn. But mostly his wife.

"The idea of making peace with Titus Mede twists my gut as well. Mede will likely accept our separation from the Empire like he's accepted the loss of the Reach. The Dominion is rebuilding. We need to be ready. We're bleeding out our best in this running battle. Unfortunately, the elf makes sense."

"Am I supposed to overlook the sacrifice of so many valiant men and women?" demanded Galmar.

"Honor what they fought for," said Revyn. He gagged as Galmar's fist tightened. "Freedom from the Empire, freedom from the Dominion." He stared unblinking back into Galmar's eyes, reading the hatred, the pain, the grief of memories there.

"What about freedom from you lesser races?"

"Morrowind has learned that lesson of such arrogance. The Thalmor base their entire philosophy on the belief of their superiority. Be better than that, nord. Pray, our Jarl needs your strength and belief more so than ever before. Step back. You're a fearsome death-dealing warrior; be the equally valiant and fearsome a guardian of life," Revyn pleaded.

"My lord, I've heard from my contacts in Whiterun that the Emperor is planning to visit High Hrothgar to pay respects to the Graybeards. If there is a chance to conduct truce talks, it is there. I am urging our Jarl to go there to meet him. I challenge you to go there. I challenge you to visit the orphans that cluster at the base of that holy mountain. See the orphans of war, the lost children you claim to be fighting a future for. See them, talk to them, listen to their dreams, listen to their bedtime prayers. Don't talk at them; don't lecture them of their duty. Listen. Can you do that? Then ask yourself why their guardians and teachers are dark elves. Blame the Empire, blame the Dominion that there are so many orphans. Condemn yourself when you ask who is seeing to their future."

Revyn saw stars in a black sky for a moment, then Galmar released him. And for a second time in his life he was sliding down a wall to sprawl at a nord's feet.

"He presumes to lecture you, of all people, about duty," said Gilder, sneering.

"Not now. I need to think," grunted Galmar, stomping away.

"Damn," said Gilder. "You're actually managing to get to him, too." There was the sound of other feet, the weight of other presences. "Take him," Gilder ordered to the men who now filled the corridor. "We're out of time and we need to act quickly. Take his knife and use it to kill the Morag Tong bitch. Poison it first and make it look like he managed to kill her in self-defense. Also make it seem like she had a partner. Stage his room. Kill the guards outside and the maid, too, if she happens to be there. After that, you heard him, the Emperor will be making a pilgrimmage to High Hrothgar; he won't be taking his army with him. Our chance to kill him and Ulfric is there."

"No!" Revyn protested weakly, pushing himself up. A quick blow to the head sent Revyn into the darkness.


	54. Assassins, pt3

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **ASSASSIN, pt.3**

They brought the dunmer in and put him in the next cell. Even unconscious he twitched and softly moaned from the effects of the power-drain collar about his neck. Even more than an arm's length away she could feel the inimical weight of its power. This was meant not to merely suppress the use of magic but to destroy the wearer's magic. Worn long enough and it would destroy both spirit and mind.

Although, if he was being delivered to the canonreeves of the Thalmor, they probably wanted his will broken by that blasphemous device.

Ardeth Chamius d'Karoodil of Firsthold's right fist pounded against her cage door. "I want to talk to your leader! This is an outrage!" The nords didn't even glance at her. Just tossed a blanket over the dunmer and shut his cage.

She listened carefully as they left. One would remain on guard duty in the small room at the top of the stairs. There should be enough time. With a sigh she loosened her left hand grip on the cage bars and pushed the door open. This cold cellar had once been used for butchering and meat storage and aside from the old bloodstains on the walls, the floor was still littered with cold-dried offal nuggets and bone fragments. She'd managed days ago to find two long fragments with which she'd picked the cage lock.

She went over to his cage and started picking away.

" _Cerum, Cerum_! Wake up!" she hissed. "You have to be awake to fight." All she got back was a soft whimper. She stared worriedly at the blood down the side of his face, hoping that was the only thing holding him unconscious and not the effects of any drug. The pins clicked and she was in.

"Oh, Akatosh, Julianos, guide me," she muttered. She had her own power-drain arm bracers that blocked her use of magic. It was certainly more than sufficient for most mer that weren't adepts and above. All that the Dominion knew about Revyn Sadri was that he had some conjuration skills, adequate fire, but overall barely an apprentice-level user. What power did they fear from him that warranted a collar to bind a Sapiarch or Psijic Monk? The Dominion would not be happy to take delivery of an insane mer when they'd hoped to secure a potentially valuable resource.

She knelt at his head, slid her hand under it and lifted so that she could stuff more the straw bedding underneath as a better cushion. Two deep breaths; she focused her mind and then she slipped her hands between his collar and his pulse points to take on the weight of the collar. It was all she could do not to scream. It was like the embrace of Molag Bal if ever she'd been sick enough to try to imagine what such would be like. It was violation she knew she'd remember for the rest of her life.

" _Cerum_! Revyn, awaken! Ancestors, help me! This is too much!"

" _Iam Daedra, iam card layshad osuhl,"_ he whispered, crimson eyes slitting open. " _Kyne de Morgiah_."

"Stay awake. You need to be awake to fight the collar," she told him.

"Daedra ohn halberad," he whispered, his eyes rolling back and partially closing so that the barest sliver of crimson sclera was visible. He wouldn't respond anymore to her words or when she shook him. She reluctantly withdrew her hands and sat back.

The only way out was up the stairs and past that guard. Without her magic all she had was her two hands. The _Kyndjoranois_ were all spellswords, and even if it was only the most basic elemental magic it was right now more than she could handle.

She'd tried escaping yesterday; a futile attempt and she hadn't gotten even halfway up the stairs before she'd had to turn back. Ice runes were laid on the stairs, an inconvenience only to nords but enough to freeze any who lacked a nord's natural resistance to cold. There was no door at the top of the stairs and by careful listening, she knew that the guard sat on a creaky chair positioned to face the cellar. There was also a fishing net hung with rattles covering the doorway. There was window or hatch of sorts in that room. She'd heard three days ago two nords discussing if it was worth the effort of repairing.

The dunmer's whole body was twitching, finger writhing, and his long, agonized low moans grated along her nerves.

Leaving him like that was unthinkable. As for escaping... That was laughable. She'd never make it out. She didn't really have any value here and she was surprised they'd let her live this long in the first place. Their leader had recognized her from Markarth. Possibly he was hoping for some additional reward by returning her to the Dominion. It didn't take any imagination to foresee the torture and humiliating death. She had nothing to gain by attempting escape. She gritted her teeth, commended her soul to Aetherius and her ancestors, and put her hands into the fire again.

Oh, the nords were back. They must be shouting in her ear for her to hear them through the agonizing hell existence had become. But though she could hear them, she couldn't understand them. She cried out in wordless protest as her hands were forcefully pulled away from the dunmer. From the fire she was then thrown to the icy depths of nothingness.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

Leaving the darkness was... unpleasant, but she didn't appear to have a choice and was birthed into a softer darkness of stiff muscles and old aches. The silk-lined blanket was heavy but was comforting. The only light in the room came from a single candle behind plates of pink-stained glass on a table near the door. Next to the light was a cup and pitcher. She thought of flowers. Her mouth tasted of flowers and warm, sunlit air.

"Thirsty?" asked a soft, female voice. The shadow at the foot of the bed went to the table and picked up the cup to bring to her. She slid a hand under her head, gently lifted, and let her sip. Room temperature water and that same flavor of flowery herbals. Whatever it was, it quickly soothed away her headache.

"Where...?"

"You're safe in my master's house, muthsera. Thank you for protecting him."

"How...?"

"A little more tea and then more rest first, muthsera. Your questions will be answered when you are strong enough for conference. But be assured you are among friends here. I am Savela, Sedura Revyn's merchant apprentice. Now, can you drink just a little bit more tea?"

She drank and slipped into a restful, dreamless sleep.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Kyndjoranois, the treacherous child," Ardeth explained, "They are babes who were taken during the Great War to be raised as assassins for the Dominion. Nords, bretons, redguards — whatever they could get, as many as they could get. Most of those children die along the way and the survivors of the conditioning and training are ruthless tools of the Dominion. Their natural instinct for escape or death or salvation is twisted to reinforce the belief that that may only be possible if they die in the Dominion's service.

"A significant weakness is that they are not very imaginative. As you may conclude, imagination and self-determination are not prized qualities in Thalmor tools. They need a handler to plot strategies for them, to think of possibilities and responses. That is where Thane Gilder comes in. I do not know what motivates his service to the Dominion. I only know that it was he the Chief Justicier named as he was instructing them in their mission."

They were all crowded in the kitchen. Revyn sat at her left, not touching her but close enough that she could feel his body heat. His nearness was a comfort against the many dunmer and three nords crowded around. The three nords were Dana Mirasdottir, Brunwulf Free-Winter, and Mikel Anvil, the captain of the local dunmer guards.

"I didn't want to believe it," said Free-Winter. "I had been hoping, Revyn, that your dislike of him was merely paranoia. Reasonable enough as the man has this inexplicable dislike for you." As far as she could tell, he was not a noble nor did he appear to hold any important political or civic position in Windhelm, but all the dunmer appeared to respect him.

Dana was Revyn's secretary. She was the one credited with their rescue by virtue that she'd alerted the dunmer guards, the "Grey Guards" they called themselves, that Revyn was still alive and where they could find him. She'd also specifically told them that the altmer with him was protecting him. But, how did she know all that?

From the House Guardians. The dunmer healer who'd attended to Ardeth's healing had explained to her that she'd been able to protect Revyn well enough that he'd been able to connect with his house guardians. Not magic because this was not a conjuration. These were spirits that were already bound to Mundus by their own oaths and daedric magic. Their connection to the honored sedura was on a spiritual level that only needed a touch of mental focus and will to be effected. When she'd put herself between him and the majicka of the collar, he's rallied enough to alert the Guardians and, in turn, the Guardians were able to alert Dana because she was actually descended from one of them, her nord line founder having married a dunmer warrior.

It was like from the ancient tales when the Altmer used to worship their ancestors before they adopted the Aedra as gods and the Thalmor scholars began promoting that only the Altmer were the true descendants of the Ehlnofey, the fallen Aedra and therefore Aedra themselves. Now only the Psijics adhered to that ancient practice.

The Chimer, too, in their own way, although they had adopted three Daedra Princes as "Ancestors."

Revyn had called upon his ancestors and it obviously worked for him. Something she should look into in the future.

Captain Mikel led the raid and they'd taken the three guards in the building. "Not the kyndjoranois," she said. "They fight to the death and would make every effort to suicide. "How old are they? Because if they're over 30, that's again proof they are not of the kindjoranois. They die young, of their missions, or they go mad and have to be terminated because they will no longer listen to their handlers. Likely the ones you have are ignorant mercenaries hired to be our jailors. They would have no information useful to us."

"They don't," affirmed the mer standing beside the captain. "We've already questioned them and turned them over to the palace guards. Steward Jorlief considers their actions treason and they will be executed when and if the Jarl returns from High Hrothgar. He's also urgently requested any advice, sedura, that you can give him. He's sent messengers to warn the Jarl and he wishes to know if there is anything else he should do."

"On his part, no," said Revyn. "But I think we have things to do. Ambarys, see if you can get the message to the proper Morag Tong to explain the death of their agent. Elani, please, take care of Ruveyana's body. I believe the Sadras prefer not to burn their dead. Dana, alert the Indoril to send spellswords to High Hrothgar."

"Will a runner reach them in time?" asked Ardeth.

"No, not regular couriers. Spell protected pigeons," said Dana. "We have pigeon handlers in all our important contact points."

"Also, I believe Cousin Nicky is in the Rift visiting his sisters at Goldenglow Estate. Get word to him so that he can join the Indoril. We don't want the Emperor's escort force to overreact when a squad of dunmer show up to start fighting Stormcloak armored traitors."

"'Cousin Nicky?'" Ardeth asked Dana at her right.

"His wife's cousin. The Felix family are known Mede loyalists. Titus Mede I became a Felix cousin when his mother married into the family. Nicky is also a Companion. One hopes the Jarl will have sense not to immediately attack when he sees Nicky leading a dunmer war party."

Sadri. A cousin by marriage to the Emperor. His half-dunmer wife was known to be loyal to the Emperor. They lived in the capitol city of the nord rebellion. The Companions were known to be a politically neutral group of nord mercenaries and were also hailed as the pattern-card of all things Nord. But, they let an imperial join. Sadri and his wife had definite influence with the dunmer settlements in Morthal and the Rift, Telvanni and Indoril, respectively, and very hard groups for the Thalmor to sneak spies into.

Ardeth let these random facts drift through her mind as she studied the dunmer crowded into the kitchen. She had sense that they were not all of the same tribe or house, but they were all refugees in Windhelm, and that they all respected Sadri and looked to him for leadership. She had yet to meet his elusive wife, the link to the Helseth cousins for which she was risking her life to make. There had been so little information to be had in Summerset. All that she knew, that her half-dunmer cousins knew, were from childhood stories told by the late Queen Morgiah. Anything else they knew of King Helseth and Queen Barenziah were from those common publications that circulated throughout the empire, and those were rarely seen now as the Thalmor destroyed libraries and literature deemed corruptible or inaccurate to their truths.

She looked and saw that they did have power, but were they willing to take on the Thalmor to help people they'd never met?

She felt someone touch her shoulder and looked up to see Savela. The girl looked solemn as she bent down to hand Ardeth a cup. Softly, but still loud enough for those nearby to hear, she said, "Another dose of medicine, sera, and the healer would like to see you a few moments if you can be spared."

"By all means, my dear savior, see the healer," urged Revyn, smiling.

Ardeth murmured her apologies. She sipped her tea as she followed Savela upstairs and back to her guest room, but the healer was nowhere around.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you, but you seemed distressed. You were crying," said Savela.

Startled, Ardeth put her hands to her face and found that her cheeks were indeed wet. The girl further surprised her by giving her a swift, shy hug. "The master's really a kind and gentle man, but Thane Gilder and his plans has angered him. The master can be ruthless where family and friends are endangered." She stated that with a small, proud smile. "But his planning with the others isn't the reason you are upset. Something else troubles you and, I think, you do not want to embarrass yourself by strong emotions and then the embarrassment of explaining that you weren't really paying attention to what they were discussing."

"You are remarkably perceptive," Ardeth said stiffly, embarrassed that her lack of discipline was such that a child who hadn't yet reached her second decade could read her so easily.

"Master Revyn has been training me in his craft since I was 11. It was very kind of him considering I can claim no kinship of him and I was a homeless little skeever he'd caught trying to steal from his shop," Savela confessed calmly. "Since then he's helped me find my family and has helped my mother heal from her past. He is one that believes very strongly in family unity."

She led Ardeth to a small side table and urged her to sit down. She then produced a pot of tea — a different blend of black tea leaves with a mildly earthy and woodsy, mellow flavor — and a tray of small savory cheese rolls. "I don't pretend to know much of the current politics; I've been busy at his store. All I know is you're upset about something. I'm willing to listen if you just want somebody to talk to and I won't speak anything of what you tell me, even to him, unless you tell me to. And I'm willing to answer questions, even ones that may sound silly. I won't laugh. I'm still asking plenty of silly questions when I want to learn something.

"Or, if you just want me to be quiet and go away, I can do that, too. I know I'm still a child and you're decades older than me and you've seen a lot more of the world."

"No, no, that's fine. Stay," said Ardeth. She sighed. As she sipped tea and slowly ate a roll, she studied the dunmer girl. She was remarkably composed and bore herself with poise and confidence that many noble-born altmer ladies of the same age were rigorously trained from birth to achieve.

"Have you ever read the book 'The Firsthold Revolt?'" Ardeth asked.

"Yes."

"My father was first cousin to Kinlord Karoodil. He wasn't happy when our Kinlord married Morgiah of Wayrest simply because she was dunmer. He was our Kinlord's battlereeve and he commanded the forces defending the city when the revolt happened. He had already begun to respect Morgiah for her intelligence and her devotion to our Kinlord. Her deft manipulation of the traitors and execution of tactics won his full admiration. I grew up with Queen Morgiah's children, Prince Goranthir and Princess Rinnala. Queen Morgiah made deadly enemies in Friar Lylim and the King of Skywatch.

"Now the Thalmor have existed since the First Era as lawkeepers, justiciars, advisors, and tutors for all the nobility. But it wasn't until the Third Era that a corruption rose in them. A particularly poisonous group calling themselves 'The Beautiful' seemed to be at the root of that corruption. When this twisted faction of the Thalmor rose to dominance after the Oblivion Crisis, Morgiah's enemies aided the infiltration into the court of Firsthold. They sponsored a weaker, more loyal branch of our house and when Kinlord Reman was assassinated, they again played on the popular prejudice against foreigners and half-breeds. 'Purity of blood' was ever the call.

"This time the rebellion was successful. To save her children's lives Queen Morgiah gave the confessions they wanted. She confessed to necromancy and conspiring with Mannimarco to seduce our Kinlord to choose her over Princess Gialene of Skywatch. Once her confession was made secured she was publicly tortured then executed. Her children, and those of us still loyal to them, were exiled. We eke out a labored existence on a mountain estate under constant scrutiny of the Thalmor. The estate is beautiful to look at from a distance, but it's stubble and stone to hoe and try to raise crops on. Most of our food crops are killed by the mountain frost. We are collared or shackled to prevent our use of magic.

"Getting out is easy enough for purebloods. All one has to do is forswear our half-breed cousins and dedicate ourselves to the Thalmor, and then accept whatever low-level, menial position they grant.

"We were dying a slow death. Exile was not an option we were offered. Death or slavery. For us purebreds that is. For our prince and princess there is only death. So we conspired. I and two others convinced the jailors we wanted to serve the Dominion. I was the only one to survive the escape. I stole an identity and joined the Dominion army. I worked hard to earn a posting to Skyrim. The plan was to find the Helseth kin and hope that they would aid us.

"So now I've found them. And I wonder how to persuade them to care for kinsmer they've never seen or met. Kin who have nothing to offer back."

The dunmer child hugged her again. Ardeth had been lost in memories as she'd poured out her story and she hadn't noticed the girl had moved closer. The contact was a surprise, but not unpleasant or, surprisingly, unwelcome. The hug reminded her of her younger siblings and cousins back home and starving and wasting their lives in that mountain prison. She hugged the dunmer girl back but wished she could be holding them.

"They've met you," Savela said firmly. "You protected Master Revyn and for that his wife will back you to Oblivion and her family will come along just for the joy of battle. And if rescuing their unknown cousins means irritating the Thalmor, all the more reason." Savela smiled and refilled Ardeth's teacup. "That was the first lesson my master taught me. One star isn't enough to light heaven; it takes many stars, a family of stars, to dare to stand off Oblivion."

"A nice thought," said Ardeth, smiling wryly.

"Mm-hm. Want to go shopping?"

"What?" Ardeth pulled back and stared down at the girl in surprise.

"Shopping. Something to cheer you up? We can do it on the master's credit; I'm sure you're good for it. Maybe a little pampering and get your pretty hair properly washed and styled."

"It sounds nice, but I should get back downstairs."

"Not really. I don't mean to insult you, but I think they would prefer you not to be there. Aside from the master, the others don't know you and have no reason to trust you. They're planning things they probably don't want to reveal so much in front of an outsider, especially an outsider who used to be a Dominion soldier. Trade secrets you understand."

"Of course," Ardeth laughed softly, tiredly. "Of course. It should be obvious. Perhaps a little frivolous shopping is what I need. But how shall an altmer in this city be explained?

"Easy enough. We have some spare Winterhold college robes around. You can be a student. Master Urag, the loremaster, often sends students to fetch things. Or you can be making business deliveries or pickups for the College's enchantments department."

"And what if we come across other College of Winterhold members?"

"You're newly enrolled. And, really, the College has gotten a lot more students and faculty that one can't know everyone there by face. So...?"

"Alright. I haven't had the luxury of shopping in a long while."

* * *

— crude, (pick it out of a word list and hope it makes sense) translations, apologies to proper linguists

 _Cerum_ = polite address, "sir" (roughly)

 _Iam Daedra, iam card layshad osuhl =_ Our Great Ancestors (Daedra), our guardians, hear us

 _Kyne de Morgiah_ = child of Morgiah / Morgiah's child

Daedra ohn halberad = Great Ancestors lead/guide us.


	55. Assassin, pt4

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

 _A/N: Just noodling around Whiterun today._

* * *

 **ASSASSIN, pt4**

There was scarce any room for rent in Whiterun with the Emperor in town. Nearby farms also were full-up with paying guests in their barns and their fields.

Revyn and his group were allowed to pitch their tents on the Honningbrew Mead property now owned by Cousins Amalie and Lyrca Felix, daughters of Cadence and Horace Felix. As family courtesy, Cousin Flora Felix Victor was allowed a stand to sell her Goldenglow Estate honey products and Revyn was allowed a stand to sell Solstheim and Morrowind goods. To round it all out, Flora's husband, Julius, had a festival contract to supplement the Whiterun guards with his mercenary troop (boosted with a subcontract with Indoril battlemages from Ivarstead in case of dragons or other magic-wielding dangers) to patrol the lands around Whiterun for any dangers and to keep order in the crowds outside the city.

"I've yet to receive any word from the mistress." Adessa Velot, the Dragonborn's steward, frowned as she sorted through a pile of missives and laid choice pieces in front of Revyn. They were meeting in the underground rooms below Breezehome. "These are items I need her direction on. Dragon sightings, unusual activities the College do not feel comfortable handling, rumors... Ah, and here's the copies of the latest reports of Thalmor activities around the Hold that Irileth gave to me. This new nord assassins group you warned us about worries her and has Hrongar watching his brother so closely the Jarl can't even be alone in the privy. The Jarl's temper, you may imagine, is delicate.

"And here is father's report of the battle at High Hrothgar. In summary, it was a near thing with the Thalmor assassins who were all adept battlemages and wielded enchanted weapons. Commander Maro and most of the Penitus Oculatus guards died as the assassins concentrated primarily on the Emperor. Heavy casualties with the Stormcloaks, too, and General Galmar was critically injured and he's not yet recovered consciousness at the time of the writing. Father lost two good friends and a good number of others.

The magic being used was at the level father hadn't used since the Oblivion Gates. Stormcloak's use of the Voice was impressive, but limited and ultimately predictable in force and effect. The assassins were ready for it and compensated.

"A surprise to everyone is that Nicky can shout fire. He used it quite successfully to defend the Emperor.

"All that shouting finally stirred the Graybeards to action. They came out roaring to disarm and pacify all parties. However, the assassins quickly shook off that effect and managed to gravely wound two Graybeards

"That's when the Graybeard Dragon came down."

"So that was all the thunder storms three days ago. Paarthurnax reveals himself." Revyn shook his head as he tried to imagine the fallout at the revelation that there was a dragon living at the Throat of the World. His wife had told him about the etched tablets at the shrines that dotted the path to High Hrothgar that told the tale of how the Mother Goddess Kyne asked Paarthurnax to teach Man how to shout. The tale thereon did not say Paarthurnax was a dragon but whom else or what else could teach the thu'um? Well, the secret was out now.

Brother against brother. Not just the nords. A dragon came out in defense of the non-dragonborn Emperor (well, not truly, but what marvelous insinuations could be made of that).

"Mm-hm. Is that its name? In any case, the Graybeards allowed the Emperor and Jarl Ulfric inside the monastery to talk while everyone else was ordered to leave. Father, however, assigned some to camp outside in case of a hidden or reserve assassin. Representatives of both sides were allowed to camp with them.

"The surviving assassins are being held under strong spells. Both sides are arguing who gets to keep them. He's also made sure Ambassador Elenwen is kept away from them. Former Almalexia priests have inspected them and found their binding an obscene likening to a guardian binding of unwilling spirits but done even before they're dead. The priests would prefer to attempt to free them of the bindings before execution so that at least they die free. Another pair of priests, one of ours and a Talos priest, has been sent up to the monastery. Ours will placate and free the bound spirits of their binding and the Talos priest will send them on their way to Sovngarde for judgment."

"Very good. Assassins they may be, but they didn't ask for this life. One hopes the Imperials and the Stormcloaks will give them the time they need to complete their task. How did Ambassador Elenwen take it? Any mention of Thane Gilder?"

"Only that he's been arrested. His trial will begin once he's returned to Windhelm. The Ambassador tried to represent the Dominion in their meeting but the Emperor dismissed her stating that whomever the Stormcrown Alliance worships is not the business of the Thalmor. Oh, and an emergency Moot is being called in Whiterun. Jarls Elisif, Idgrod, and Siddgeir are already here. Messengers have been dispatched to the Stormcloak jarls and to Jarl Igmund.

"Jarl Balgruuf has also strongly suggested that we find the Dragonborn quickly to attend. I have the people in Tel Windstad looking for her. The College is also looking for her. As important neutral parties in Skyrim, both sides wish the Archimage of Winterhold College and the Harbinger of the Companions to witness history of the breaking of Skyrim. Do you—"

"No. I wish I did. At this point, the fastest way to get her attention is if the Graybeards call out to her."

"Shall I send that suggestion to High Hrothgar?"

"We can only try. Yes, do it, although by now they are probably heartily sick of all these intrusions upon their peace."

"What if the Graybeards refuse to let the messenger into the monastery to deliver his message?"

"B'Vek." Revyn dug the heels of his hands into his eyes as he stood up to pace around the room. "Tell Nicky the plan if he is still there; tell him he's a disgrace to the Felix name if he can't find a way to irritate the dirt out of the Graybeards and get them out of their monastery, especially now that he's a Tongue. It must run in the family," Revyn muttered. He'd actually seen, rather heard, Nicky use the imperial racial trait, fancifully called the Voice of the Emperor, during some heated confrontations with Reachmen. And there had been a couple quiet evenings they'd spent discussing Tiber Septim's failed School of the Thu'um for warfare that had been established in Markarth. It was only natural Nicky had interest in the thu'um used by his cousin. Revyn found it particularly interesting that Nicky's first word was _Fire_.

"Seriously, master?" Revyn gave her a look. "Oh, of course, master, I'm sure he's more than capable."

"Anything else?"

"Yes." A shallow basket full of parchments landed in front of him. "Speaking of Master Nicholas Felix, these are the reports delivered last week with the wine shipments from the senior Sedura Nicholas Felix. There's activity along the borders of Elsewyr and Valenwood and more than the usual number of Dominion naval ships running around the coasts."

Revyn dropped heavily back into a chair and stared at the piles. When had he become a boss member of the Felix Tong? What was he supposed to do with that kind of military knowledge? "I could really use some cheese and scrib rolls and a large pitcher of chilled sujamma. Let my cousins know I'll be staying here overnight."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Ah, Friend Revyn, so good to see you!"

Revyn summoned a bland, welcoming smile and respectfully bowed to Elder Councilor Amaund Motierre. "A pleasure, my lord. I trust you are enjoying your stay in Whiterun, a so much pleasanter venue than Markarth."

"Not as elegant as Solitude, but it does have a rustic charm. So, since that remarkable performance in Markarth where you helped negotiate the separation of the Reach from the Empire's control, what have you been up to?"

"You exaggerate my role, my lord." Revyn edged away from a group of Nord nobles who had been watching and listening. Motierre followed him, either blissfully unaware or arrogantly unconcerned about the attention that was on them. "I was only protecting my business interests, nothing more."

"I see. And are you here on more business?"

"I am merely taking the opportunity to visit family and to make some sales. Honningbrew Meadery is now part of Felix Enterprises as is the Goldenglow Estate in the Rift. I am also sponsoring the food offerings of my apprentice and her family. We have sales stands. If you are interested in fine meads and wines and good food, I invite you to visit us. I am heading back there after my visit with the court wizard. I am delivering some custom orders from my wife's Telvanni house kin in Solstheim."

"Ah, yes, your Telvanni kin." The councilor smiled in a way that he supposed conveyed that he knew more of Revyn's secrets than he actually did. Revyn smiled back, confirming nothing. "That was one House in Morrowind that always did go its own way."

"Assuredly so. That has not changed. But, if you will excuse me, my lord, it will only take me a moment to drop these items off."

The elder councilor was still waiting for him when he left Mage Farengar's office/suite. Revyn wondered unenthusiastically what his game was this time.

When Adessa Velot's father was hired by the Penitus Oculatus to kill the last known Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Tamriel, which happened to be in Falkreath, he'd padded his fee by salvaging items. Among them was an Elder Councilor's pendant of office. How and why the Dark Brotherhood would have it was a mystery until Motierre, who had attached himself to the Emperor's party as the Emperor toured Skyrim, had made it a point to visit Revyn at Tel Windstad to ask if any "unusual or unique item" from the Sanctuary had appeared in Revyn's shop. Somehow, Revyn's Windhelm shop had the reputation of acquiring rare objects.

But, he was right in that instance. Adessa's father did sell the non-weapon, non-armor stuff to Revyn. Revyn had tried to give the amulet to the Felixes, but they'd told him it was safer in his keeping. By Oblivion, even the Emperor had recommended he keep the amulet; he had his own game to play with Motierre. Revyn wondered if it was a measure of how deeply rooted Motierre's schemes were that the Emperor allowed him to live this long.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

Motierre was delighted to meet the young ladies of the Felix family. He praised their success in establishing themselves quite well in Skyrim. The young Felixes were likewise delighted with him, flirting right back at him while they sold him goods that drained every coin out of his purse.

"Oooh, right. Such an honor to have an Elder Councilor as a patron," said Flora, rolling her eyes and giggling with her twin sister Crystal, visiting from Colovia. Her cousins Amalie and Lyrca giggled right along. Revyn merely smiled. It was family dinner in the upper, private kitchen in the Honningbrew Meadery. Victor had excused himself earlier for business, leaving Revyn alone with Felix girls.

Who all turned their bright, intelligent eyes on him. "Any reason for bringing that treacherous fetcher here, dear Revyn?" asked Amalie

"Ah, not really. I made a casual invitation that he took as serious."

"Oh, don't worry so, sister," said Lyrca, the youngest at 16. "All he saw were potential ties into our family. You saw how heavy handed he was flirting with me."

"And me," giggled Crystal. "Ooh, such a choice! A chance to access private coastal property, perfect for setting up secret ports, or the chance to secure international trade ties to further undercut the East Empire and the Mede interests."

"Coastal property?" asked Revyn, looking at Lyrca.

"Oh, yes, just north of Kvatch. Excellent hills there for growing the Almondine and Durval varietal grapes. Very popular with the Altmer. And when papa started treating those grapes like he did our the less flavored Snowfall varietals using the heavier bottles and special capping process to trap the fermentation gases, well, the altmers went wild. They do so love sparkling wines. We do have to pay slightly higher property taxes to get better shore patrols because the isolation is a lure to smugglers. The land was originally Meris land and mama's dowry. I get half of it as mine. Lyrca sold her half to papa in exchange for controlling interest in Honningbrew."

"And if he can't get a secret port, then there's trade ties through me," said Crystal. "Our family may only specialize in wine and spices, but since the collapse of the East Empire Trade Company due to the Dominion killing most of them for being Blade spies, we now actually are the stronger because we still have all our contacts and contracts. Motierre's an idiot if he thinks that by marrying me he'll be able to wrest any operational control from my papa."

The girls began dissecting Motierre, his motives, his looks, his... Revyn sidled to the farthest part of the room.

Despite only partially listening, he learned the Motierres of Chorrol were well-established since the Second Era and had rumored associations with, maybe once had a member in, the Dark Brotherhood. After the Stormcrown Interregnum they got themselves a seat on the Elder Council when Titus Mede I was selling Council seats to replenish the Imperial treasury.

"Father's letter was delivered this morning and sent specific information about Motierre's trade activities. I've already noted what I needed to sabotage his recent dealings in Skyrim; I think the rest might be of use to you."

"Oh, thank you, dear. Yes, they may be quite useful. Nicholas senior sent me some naval information that I was thinking might be of use to Vittoria. Oh, I hope you don't mind that I do work frequently with the East Empire, they being trade rivals."

"No, we understand you have friends among them," said Flora. "Vittoria Vici is doing her best to keep the EETC from becoming again the official spy network for the Empire. And now that she has a Stormcloak husband, she's able to expand her plans to build Skyrim's economic independance instead of being like the old company that used their stranglehold on Morrowind to base its wealth. I got to meet Vittoria when she was visiting Riften; she was there to help Asgeir cut any lingering ties with Black-Briar and also to tell her in-laws that she was pregnant. Did you know that she was seriously considering changing the company name to the 'North Empire Trading Company?' It was a suggestion from one of her top trade agents in Morrowind."

"Solstheim actually," Revyn murmured, "Razelan. The East Empire name is a lodestone. He believes a name change would make it easier to approach the Morrowind market and garner stronger buy-ins with Skyrim investors. The change would also go a long way to pleasing the Snow-Shod family. Especially now, especially since it looks like Jarl Ulfric might win his war. Partially, that is. Not all of Skyrim, but..."

"But if it is successful, both sides aren't left reeling from mortal wounds which makes it harder for the Dominion to just sweep in take over as they'd hoped," said Amalie, briskly. She smiled. "So then with you and Flora operating in the Stormcloak territories and me and the rest in Imperial, we should have a fine time trading across borders and making a profit."

"Imperial and dunmer. I'm sure the nords will overlook that."

"Oh, I've been courting a likely nord for a husband. Pleasant, not as quick-witted as I'm used to, nothing like my past hopefuls, but he's honorable, strong, excellent sense of family, and very affectionate."

"Sounds like a paragon. Does this one have a name?"

"Companion Farkas Jergenson."

"Oh, dear. Are you..."

"Oh, we know he's a werebeast like all the Circle are," said Lyrca. "Nicky told us once it looked like Farkas was considering a serious courtship. He wanted to be sure I was aware of the likelihood of wolf puppies."

"How...?"

"I hired the Companions when I found the rat infestation problem the previous owner had was worse than what we'd been told. I tracked down that idiot Mallus and beat out of him the truth about those damned rats. They were coming from an underground cavern where a mad necromancer was working on building a veritable plague of rats on some sort of idiotic conquest scheme! Well, you had Nicky with you in the Reach so I paid a hiring fee to the Companions and they sent Farkas. A fine courtesy to a family member of one of their own to send one of the Circle to handle this.

"He doesn't know that I know he's a werebeast. Nicky says the Harbinger is near to finding a solution. Part of it seems to require the restoration of Wuuthrad the elf-killer battleaxe. Then there's some lore about the original witch coven that tricked the Companions into accepting wereblood in the first place."

Flora took over the subject. "We were talking with Nicky about reported Silver Hand activity in the area when the Indorils came to fetch him for the war party forming up to rescue the Emperor. As soon as he left, Crystal and I rode for Whiterun. We also brought papers my husband had found in Faldor's Tooth from when the Silver Hands used to be there until Cousin Helsette cleared them out. Information about their camps and the werewolf packs they're hunting, and there was a mention about Wuuthrad fragments. We've already delivered them to Whitemane. He plans to send Nicky after the fragments once he gets back from High Hrothgar. The twins, Farkas and Vilkas, are already contract committed to Whiterun for current events else he'd send them."

"What was Whitemane's reaction when he realized you knew about their secret?" asked Revyn.

"Resigned. But we just reminded him it's only fair since he and the Circle had sniffed out that our Helsette was the Dragonborn. We respect each other's secrets just fine. And we appreciated him allowing Nicky to level up in their organization despite refusing to become a werewolf."

"Wuuthrad. Wonderful." Revyn shuddered. "I suppose it would be a powerful weapon against the Dominion if ever it comes to that."

"Yes. Now, speaking of the Dominion, where's this new elven cousin of ours?"

"Ardeth, her name is Ardeth Chamius d'Karoodil of Firsthold."

"Oooh! _The Firsthold Revolt_! I love that book," said Crystal.

"She's at home in Windhelm. The healers want to make sure she suffered no long-term harm from protecting me. Besides, coming here to Whiterun would not be wise of her, not with the number of Dominion spies I am sure are about. I've sent word to Innana and await her instructions." The girls pouted. Revyn smiled apologetically. He also was preparing the altmer to meet her imperial cousins. They were an exuberant lot that would undoubtedly trample the altmer noblewoman's sense of decorum. Just showing her his kin connection map had been nothing like what she had anticipated. In truth, she knew next to nothing about her dunmer kin. He was sure that Morgiah's children knew even less for having been raised in the Summerset Isles and tutored by Thalmor who, by tradition, tutored all the nobility. Dunmer on the outside, altmer inside if he was being crass about it, like Innana and her children were outwardly dunmer but their outlook, their way of thinking, tended to lean towards the imperial culture they were raised in despite growing up in Hlaalu ruled Cheydinhal.

Revyn skimmed through the reports on Motierre. "Oblivion take him. Another kin traitor. He actually thinks the Dominion will allow him to keep the Ruby Throne once he's gotten rid of Mede and all their allies? That being their obedient puppet gains him immunity from their purges?"

Then he slowly started smiling. "Of course he knows the Dominion will plan to betray him. And he's finding we dunmer are getting stronger in Skyrim and that we don't trust the Dominion. He's learned that even a reluctant alliance with dunmer has benefitted the Stormcloaks.

"Dear Amalie, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your place to host a special dinner with Motierre? Lyrca, would you allow me to play your intermediary? A proper courtship requires proper negotiations."

"Do I have to play the vacuous idiot overjoyed to be courted by an older, sophisticated nobleman who is also an Elder Councilor?" she asked, eyes sparking with anticipation of some unholy game.

"If you like, just dont overdo it. He's a greedy, ambitious fool, but not a total idiot."

"Oh, you're no fun," she complained.

"Just in case he's bothered to learn anything about the Felixes, then he will know that your family trains their daughters as they do their sons in business and in warfare. I can pass you off as a distracted artist better than as a naive noblewoman whose only purpose is to be some potential ally's compliant broodmare."

"Oh, fine then. Just warn your apprentice and her mother and aunt to expect me. My latest artistic endeavor will be to find the perfect pairing of wine to their food. And food names to help them better define dish categories. And we do have to think of a better name for the stuff than boiled pastry strings."

"An old Alessian word for glue paste is 'pasta.' What about that?" asked Crystal. "That way I don't think about sweetrolls or tarts."

"Potential. It has potential."

* * *

 _GalacticHalfling: No, it's not canon. I just thought it a convenient plot device. Besides, when it comes to eradicating the lower class life forms, anything goes — sterilized drones/bucks, poisoned bait, addictive drugs, compromised food quality, union buster spies..._


	56. Assassin, pt5

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

ASSASSIN, pt.5

The regular folk had long tables they walked past and servers scooped in the food they pointed to. The rich and privileged had sit-downs at candle-lit tables and servers presenting artfully arranged, food on individual glazed stoneware plates (being sold by Goldenglow Estates and manufactured by the Indoril Colony in the Rift), while other servers wove around the tables and through the crowds presenting a selection of spirits and suggested pairings depending on the dishes they currently were eating (wines from Goldenglow and also fine imports via House Felix of Colovia, sturdy ales and meads of Honningbrew Meadery, exotic sparkling wines from House Felix, and spicy sujamma from Solstheim).

Pasta noodles was the main dish, in forms of long strings, little fans, square, stuffed pillows, curled shells, and hollow tubes. Most were of a wheat paste, some egg and wheat, and few dishes had noodles of saltrice or of beans. Cream sauces, vegetable sauces, cow and goat butters. Savory soup stocks of beef, chicken, crab, and don't ask. Mild and delicate to fiery and bold.

The Felix women were in flowing Colovial gowns of shining silk and wearing headdresses with a long, colorful feather pinned against headbands by gems. One could track four tall feathers darting through the crowds as they directed servers or talked to guests. And as each cousin wore a different color, it was also easy to find a particular one if needed.

A fifth gowned and feathered hostess (or sentry rather) was Revyn's apprentice, Savela Nethri, and she intercepted those trying to enter the cooking area to poke their hands into dishes or to tried to talk to the cooks to get recipes. Revyn assisted when necessary, but she was doing well.

"A successful affair. I predict the new food will be quite fashionable in the Imperial City. A very hard market to break into," said Elder Council Amaund Motierre appearing suddenly beside Revyn.

"All thanks to Cousin Lyrca. The dear girl has a talent for promoting ideas and products. Useful as an artist, even more so in trade," Revyn said proudly, but then added sadly, "If only she would apply herself to business. But, alas, she is a dreamer and her attentions tend to drift. Not good in the long term for business you understand."

"Of course, of course."

"I fear she is already turning her mind to some other endeavor. Fortunately, we have taken enough notes of her ideas that will help my dear apprentice and her family as they continue to build their business."

"It can be good to have a visionary in one's family," said Motierre. "Especially one so brilliant that one may overlook their, um, impatience to oversee the tedious day-to-day attention needed to see a vision become reality."

"Oh, yes. We are keen to find such a suitor for her." Revyn sighed and smiled whimsically. "It seems to be pattern in this family. The strongest pairing, if I may so flatter myself, is one where the Felix partner is the business-minded anchor while the Felix provides volatility and innovation and that certain relentless hunt for opportunities. Dear Lyrca's partner must be an exceptional man of ambition and drive to manage the many opportunities she will flush in her hunt for new amusements.

"And, of course, her mate will have access to the Felix resources. I've made use of it; I've been of use to others in my wife's family."

"Yes. The Elder Council has noted the advances in reestablishing relations to Morrowind. We had believed they would never come around back to the Empire after the Oblivion Crisis, but Felix Enterprises has been making strides in re-opening trade. In fact, the East Empire Company credits you for re-opening the gate for them."

"An opportunity I would not have been able to capitalize on had not my wife already won their respect. Cousin Lyrca is also creator of possibilities in her own unique way."

"Are there any suitors being considered?"

"Oh, yes. There are many who desire to establish a connection with the Felixes. I hear there are even two altmer families attempting a match." Revyn made a low, grunting sound of displeasure. "Not Summerset families. These ones have been living in Kvatch or the Imperial City for at least two centuries, but still..."

"You don't like altmer?"

"Not my favorite people, no." He sighed sharply. "Oh, do forget I said that, please. I do have to remind myself there are some out there who are decent enough. Fortunately, Horace shares my reserve about the altmers. He and his wife engaged in too many battles against altmer-led bosmeri troops during the Great War. While they find it ironic that they've managed to build their fortune on the wines that are now in great demand in Summerset, they do not think that allowing altmer blood into the family will be of any useful advantage. More likely, it would only make it easier for Thalmor to infiltrate.

"In fact, with his first daughter finding promising prospect among the nords, he's asked me to find potential suitors while Lyrca's temporarily living in Skyrim. Anyone I recommend will have a favorable advantage in her parents' final decision."

"So you are looking only at nord suitors?"

"I am looking for advantages. Lyrca, for all her fancies, understands the importance of leveraging advantages for the family. The family many not boast such titles as duke or count, but they are of the noble class and understand how the world works."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

" _DOV-A-KIIIIN_ " The roar from High Hrothgar had cracked the heavens and flushed out a trio of dragons who, thankfully, only flew over Whiterun without attacking. It did make for a good show for the imperial courtiers who had been tittering about backwater Skyrim's quaint obsession with mythological creatures.

"Good to see you again, Master Revyn. Now, tell me what's going on," commanded Jarl Balgruuf after Irileth had closed the doors of the Jarl's private chambers. She leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest after casting _muffle_ at various points around the room. "The Emperor's here and now we hear Ulfric was waiting for him at High Hrothgar. We hear one story that the Stormcloaks attacked the Emperor and then the other story that Dominion assassins had infiltrated Ulfric's troop and they tried to kill both the Emperor and Ulfric. And now—"

"The second story is true, my jarl."

The jarl paused, his mouth open, which then clicked shut in a scowl. "And how do you know this?"

Revyn explained his imprisonment by Thane Gilder and his subsequent rescue by a Dominion defector who had followed him back from Markarth because she believed he and his wife would be able to provide her protection and escape in return for information she'd gotten while serving Chief Justiciar Ondolemar. He'd then literally sent words flying to Ivarstead via the new pigeon system his company was developing and Selrun Mor, who'd worked for Whiterun for a time as their chief dragon hunter when Thane Dragonborn wasn't around, took a team up to High Hrothgar after fetching Companion Nicky from Goldenglow Estate where he'd been visiting his sisters. Ulfric knew Nicky on sight and would likely hold back as dunmer began attacking the fake Stormcloak soldiers. The Emperor also knew Nicky Felix as a distant cousin as the original Titus Mede was a cousin by marriage and who gotten Felix money with which to buy his first mercenary army.

"So. I am supposed to welcome Ulfric into my city after all this time as if all the lives lost in this useless war never happened," said Balgruuf. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes like a man trying to erase evidence his eyes have seen. " _A voice from the past, a great, mighty roar / black banners unfurl, the black wings of war / and brother fights brother, take arms and spill blood / chaos, confusion, below and above,_ " he crooned the verse from one of Helsette's many songs the bards have been singing.

These songs, part of her graduate work, had been considered controversial until recent events — songs hinting that there were dragons that opposed Alduin, chief among them his own brother; musings that the quarrel of dragons mirrored the quarrel within Skyrim; and songs that hinted that the time of a world-encompassing Empire was passing.

"The Prophet Velothi said to his followers who were in mourning after one of the many battles against the followers of Trinimac, 'Leave the dead to their own; the time of change is now,'" said Revyn. "Velothi and those who would be Chimer worshipped Boethiah and the followers of Trinimac, who in time would become Malacath and his Orsimer, were two of the more militant factions of the ancient Aldmeri. Their mutual nature would have been to fight to the last member. Velothi knew the value of withdrawing from an ultimately untenable position and Boethiah borrowed a trick from Mephala and discovered the weapon of propaganda. The bards are handling the propaganda.

"As for the lost, you know better, my jarl. And so does Ulfric. It is not easy, the memories of his past, but he has fought — is continuing to fight — his demons. And I can't help but hope that the few days he's spending back up at the Tongue's monastery is cooling the fires of his tortured memories of the Great War. I understand that he spent years training to be a Tongue until the war started. He hadn't matured enough in his training to earn the privilege of meeting Paarthurnax then. I hope he has time to talk to the dragon. I understand from my wife that Paarthurnax enjoys long, intellectual debates. Dragon to dragon that is. I'm sure he'll make exception to a mere _bronjun_ , a jarl, who was once his student."

Balgruuf gave a short bark of a laugh. "I would have thought that latest shout was for the Dragonborn to come and fetch the noisy intruders off their mountain," he said.

"That, too," Revyn agreed. "Reports I've gotten is that two monks were seriously injured by the assassins. That cannot be pleasing to the dragon. Most of the Emperor's bodyguards have died, including Commander Maro. General Galmar is injured and Stormcloaks are also dead. The assassins were battlemages. Selrun Mor has experience with those kinds of opponents as you know."

"Daedra hunter," muttered Balgruuf.

"Quite. Some Indoril died, but not as many as the Emperor's or Ulfric's people."

More eye rubbing followed by a deep sigh. "And we quarreling brothers are going to divide our house into two, like the prudent, expedient family that puts sons on both sides of a battle so that whichever side wins, the family will continue to hold into its territory."

"You see it clearly, my jarl. Yes, that is the idea. The Empire has built its wealth because it has many income streams. Skyrim lost that purse in the when it ceded to the Alessian Empire. It is our hope that Whiterun and her allies maintain Empire trade and, of course continue trading with their Stormcloak brothers. The Stormcloak Alliance can concentrate on developing its financial strength and build reserves now that it will be free of the constant drain of imperial taxes and manning the Empire's legions. And with the 'Skyrim is for the Nords' sentiment so strong, Skyrim Holds will have first trade priority."

"Shades of the Ebonheart Alliance. You dunmer are making Ulfric's position stronger," said Balgruuf.

"Ah, not quite. As my jarl once pointed out, a few groups of argonians are not a full tribe of Black Marsh. But, ironically, yes. I am rather depending on Stormcloak sentiment that my people are the lesser of two evils when it comes to business partners. Ulfric appreciates that we dunmer wear our black hearts honestly on the outside."

Balgruuf laughed. "Of course he does." He took a moment to grin apologetically at his dunmer housecarl. She merely shrugged with a small smile of wry acknowledgement. "And with that, tell me what you are doing in Whiterun? Not merely just visiting your Felix kindred at Honningbrew I'll wager. I know full well your whispering voice is as much to be feared as my thane's sky-cracking thu'um."

"Ah, well, it comes back to the assassins, my jarl. This one is the ambitious serpent that's been plotting the Emperor's death for quite a while now; the one who originally tried to hire the Dark Brotherhood, a plan which Selrun handily cut short. I speak of Elder Councilor Motierre."

"You've been getting quite close to him I've noticed. He has made mention that he is courting one of the Felix women and you are acting as matchmaker."

"Yes. He is after Lyrca and her private coastal property and its proximity to Hammerfell which would be convenient to the Dominion Navy, not to mention access to the profitable winery there. I've hinted my approval will guarantee a match. The ladies are playing along with me and encourage his advances.

"Motierre is finally realizing that accepting Dominion help to the throne is no guarantee of a long, successful reign. I've been trying to sell him the idea that, one, the Felixes are disillusioned with their Mede cousin and, two, that my friendship and any favors for my wife's family will create an escape route into Morrowind should he need it.

"Once I have solid evidence of the extent of his treason, I will, of course, cut him dead."

Balgruuf contemplated him in a long, thoughtful silence.

"I once had an ebony sword I would gladly lend you for that, but your wife already stole it some time ago."

"I thank you for the thought, my jarl, but I have no skill with a sword," said Revyn, smiling.


	57. Assassin, pt6

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

ASSASSIN, Pt.6

"The Emperor is on his way back. Legate Fasendil at Fort Neugrad has taken charge of what remains of the Emperor's escort that was waiting in Ivarstead and is escorting him back to Whiterun. The Indoril in Ivarstead are guarding Ulfric and keeping him safe until a new escort from Windhelm arrives and then he will come to Whiterun. However, they will be staying at Heljarchen Hall in the Pale just outside our border." Irileth finished her report and all eyes turned to Revyn who was, unfortunately by default, now Ulfric's representative by his position as a steward of Windhelm. Also because again he was the harbinger of trouble. Last time it was vampires and now it was assassins. And because Heljarchen was his wife's property from which he ran a lucrative business.

Currently present were Balgruuf, Commander Caius, Legate Gaius Maro, grim-faced and still dealing with the death of his father, Jarls Idgrod, Siddgeir, and High Queen Elisif and her advisor, Falk Firebeard. General Tullius as the Empire's military governor of Skyrim was also present, and then there was Elder Councilor Motierre representing the Empire's interest.

Revyn merely shrugged at the attention. Unless someone asked him something, he had nothing to say.

Elisif asked. "How could you save him?" The horror and disgust in her tone made it obvious she wasn't talking about the Emperor.

"He has my oath of loyalty," Revyn stated. "Not that I care for his politics but I cared more for the chance to better my people's lives. Keeping him safe is the price of that."

"He's a traitor."

Revyn looked down at his hands in his lap. It was a contention point that would never be agreed upon.

"I distrust the Thalmor. In that I agree with him," he said finally, raising his eyes to meet hers. "I do not trust their intentions; I do not like their methods. I prefer to live where I am free of their heresy patrols. Even my wife, given the choice of Thalmor rule or the extremes of nord prejudice, chooses the nords."

"She supports Ulfric?" Pain and fear of betrayal in her voice and eyes.

"She chooses the nords over the Thalmor. She is also half imperial, I remind you, and remembers that Skyrim is the wall Cyrodiil has more than once put its back against in times of war. She knows what Skyrim will lose if the Thalmor get their way. We get reports from her family in trade who travel throughout Cyrodiil. We hear news from her mother, the General of the 2nd Legion. We see how the Thalmor spread poison and division in the cities of Cyrodiil where they run free under the protection of the Concordat.

"The Battle of Red Ring was won, Jarl Elisif, but the war is still being waged and the Empire is losing unless drastic measures are to be taken.

She glanced uncertainly at General Tullius, who had relay-ridden the past two days, nonstop from Solitude to get here. Hard enough for a man in his prime, harder for a man in his 60's. Tullius was staying conscious only by sheer willpower. He met her glance, military officer to Jarl instead of Imperial military governor of a province to an inexperienced provincial ruler. He wasn't contradicting Revyn. None of the Imperials were.

"Dividing forces would seem illogical. Call it diversification," Revyn added, continuing to talk while this silent exchange was going on.

"Jarl Ulfric won't get all of Skyrim. The Reach is gone and its silver will go neither to the Empire nor to Skyrim. He won't get Haafingar or Whiterun, the two richest Holds. He will have to settle for the Pale, Eastmarch, and the Rift and what peace he can find with the mer of Morrowind."

He paused and looked at her, analyzing her reaction and silently sighed. He rounded the table to approach her. She shied back against Firebeard who shifted slightly, instinctively protective. Revyn ignored him and focused on Elisif.

In a voice pitched only for her ears he said, "No one asks you to forgive him. Don't. Instead, demand more of him. He says he can make Skyrim stronger. Demand he prove his words. Demand he make Skyrim stronger for all nords, not just those who followed his banner. He had enough voices telling him to let those Holds staying with the Empire to die with the Empire. I can't speak for the rest of Skyrim. You can. You actually do have the power to make a difference here. Grant me audience later on and I can tell you how."

"Why would you do this? Would you work against your jarl?"

"He knows I will do nothing to jeopardize his rule. I will not disgrace my wife's standing in your court. Any suggestions will be to the mutual benefits of both your rules."

Now General Tullius spoke. "Listen to him, Jarl Elisif. If he says there is a way you can influence Ulfric, then do it. As a ruler, a leader of your people, you often must put aside your personal feelings. Feelings and gut instincts can often be two different things. Your feelings may say 'gut the bastard,' but your instincts may also be saying, 'I need to protect my people and the bastard's the best chance for it.' To lead, you have to decide which you will listen to or how to find balance if both are valid."

"Are you saying I should learn to accept Ulfric?" she asked him.

"No. I'm asking you to be the damn jarl you're supposed to be," he snapped, low-voiced and frustrated. "Jarl Elisif, it's time to bury your husband and pick up the banner. Your advisors can't do it for you and I've got my own responsibilities to my Empire and to my legionnaires, most of them nords from all the Holds present."

She gasped, looking ready to cry. Then Jarl Idgrod was there, putting an arm around her. A glance from her and Firebeard backed immediately away. "Come, Elisif, I can see you're not feeling well." Jarl Idgrod took her out of the room.

"So, Ulfric will be staying at Heljarchen. What of the other jarls?" asked Balgruuf, moving matters on.

Revyn sighed. "Jarls Skald and Korir will also stay at Heljarchen. Jarl Law-Giver is being escorted by Thane Mor and his Indorils and they will be camping at Honningbrew. Cousin Amalie has graciously vacated her own rooms for the Jarl to stay in. Honningbrew remains open," he added dryly. "Plenty of drinks for the oncoming weeks."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"How did your meeting with Jarl Elisif go?" asked Amalie. It was well past midnight when Revyn finally returned. Amalie had been up going over her books and seeing to the transfer of her personal items and business books to storage rooms. There were also some changes being made to her personal rooms to accommodate future guest usage.

"As well as could be expected. Jarl Idgrod was present to assist me."

"Elisif considers her a friend?"

"Long time neighbor, sympathetic older woman who's ruled her Hold for longer than Elisif's been alive? Yes. Finally. Elisif never really made the effort to reach out to the other jarls after her husband's death. She knew she was being judged because of her youth, because she was a nord who had been born and raised in Cyrodiil. She let Firebeard and her husband's and father-in-law's thanes handle business. She had no friends in Skyrim. All of them and her family are in Cyrodiil. She and Idgrod finally had a chance to talk outside of court and without her handlers at Vici's reception."

"I don't think she's strong enough to rule on her own," stated Amalie. "Balgruuf has to lead what's left. Also, Elisif needs to marry. Preferably someone who's aware of the need to build naval defenses for Solitude's coast. As it is, the Dominion navy could sail right in unchallenged."

"I agree. I've mentioned that to Balgruuf. If Elisif can be brought to agree to a political marriage, he'll propose his brother for the match. Hrongar may not be as politically savvy but he can't be bought by the Thalmor and he is a staunch believer in Skyrim's need to be able to stand without the Empire."

"And it cuts out Thane Erikur. Good. That one is pure slime."

"Ah. You've met him then."

"Of course. An unmarried Felix heiress visiting Solitude? Of course he'd arrange to meet with me while I was there reviewing Honningbrew contracts. Offered to guide me in Skyrim trade. He wasn't pleased when I reminded him that my cousin, Thane Faro if he wasn't aware of the connection, was married to a merchant with decades of experience in Skyrim trade. Of course, a pawnshop merchant may not be quite at the level of Solitude's Minister of Trade, but I preferred to take my initial risk with family. Silly, naive me," she added mockingly.

"Oh, such a risk taker you are, my innocent Cyrodiil cousin," he mocked right back.

They shared a moment of quiet, contemplative silence.

"Do you really think advising her to scream, berate, and cry at Ulfric will actually incline him to listen to her?"

"Guilting him, yes. He's come a ways from the rage-blinded, pain-maddened Thalmor war dog let loose on an unsuspecting Skyrim. He's regained some sanity and is able to look critically at his past and accept that he's made unforgiveable mistakes. Elisif can embody his guilt if she will accept coaching on what to say, what points to strike. He cannot help but listen to her. She can speak to him as Jarl Balgruuf cannot because he will always see Balgruuf as a rival in power and strength. She, however, is no match. The instinct, the sexual prejudice gives her an advantage to slip under his guard because she represents no danger, and so she can say words men cannot. She can be his constant reminder that he needs to keep in mind the Skyrim outside his borders. The one voice that reaches past his many isolationist advisors."

"Dibella's trick," snickered Amalie. "Victory through surrender."

Revyn rolled his eyes as he rejected the implied relations between the two rulers. "I also hope by this act Elisif will finally be able to let go the better part of her grief. Enough that she can consider remarrying. It would probably be better for her personally if she abdicates, but that leaves Solitude dangerously exposed. The two strongest candidates should that happen are Thane Bryling, who would likely listen more to Ulfric than Balgruuf and who sees little beyond traditional ways of doing things, or Thane Erikur, whom we both know would sell Solitude to the Thalmor for enough gold. Skyrim's version of Motierre. The only reason he isn't the jarl is because of Ulfric; knowing that if Ulfric had won the civil war, the Jarl of Solitude would end up on the chopping block and he would rather Elisif loose her pretty head than him if he jumped up too early."

"You don't consider a political marriage between Elisif and Ulfric a valid option?" her amused expression told him she'd consider him insane if he did.

"No. A little guilt goes a long way and he needs a clear head. She also needs to look beyond to a future and not stay abed with a painful past."

"Hm."

"I'm not match-making. I have enough trouble trying to find someone for Jarl Igmund," Revyn grumbled. "That is, if I ever get time outside of this mess."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Elder Councilor Motierre to see you, master."

Revyn set down the sword he'd been polishing, stripped off the oil covered gloves, and stood up as Savela stepped aside to let the Elder Councilor in. "Tea or drinks, master? Noble sir?"

"None for me, dear. My lord? No. All right, then, off you go, Savela. I will see you tonight. Don't forget to stop by Ma'dran's on your way back to pick up the moon sugar wine he has for me."

"Are you sure you'll be safe here alone, master? I can find a guard who'd be willing to watch the doors for a few extra coins."

"I'll be fine. Just remember to set the door alarm bells as you leave."

Revyn shut the room's door and turned to Motierre. "Thank you for coming, my lord. And again, I do apologize for obliging you to come out here to meet with me."

"Not at all, not at all. It's chaos at Whiterun and I am glad for an excuse to leave that madness for a while." Motierre looked around at the room that was being set up for Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften due to arrive tomorrow. He was amused at the horrendously expensive mirror that was now half of one wall in the room.

They could both hear the alarm bells ringing below as Savela shut the door as she left.

"Still, with the Emperor back at the palace and you the only Elder Councilor here to witness such an important event, I can appreciate the valuable time you must be sacrificing to meet with me over such a trivial matter of pawnshop items."

"Again, any excuse to get out of the palace," repeated Motierre. "The place seems quite empty aside from the groups setting up camp in the nearby fields."

"Indorils from Ivarstead, an advance group for Jarl Laila of the Rift. They're part of the assassin hunting group that is doing a sweep to ensure the Emperor's safety.

"The girl implied your safety is also of concern?"

"Oh, recent warnings from Windhelm that they might not have caught all of those involved in assaulting and capturing me for the Dominion. The main reason why I've been obliged to restrict my movements to Honningbrew and not leave the property without an escort. An over reaction if you ask me, but Ulfric himself sent orders for me to remain under watch until he comes to Whiterun. My fair cousins are out and about at different stalls about the city selling and I've volunteered to oversee the last of the preparations here for Jarl Laila's stay, after which I will move into my tent with a guard on the outside."

"That impressive sword you're polishing is part of that preparation?"

"Oh, no," said Revyn, chuckling. "It's something my wife, ah, borrowed and which I'm cleaning up before I return it to Jarl Balgruuf.

"Now, those souvenirs from the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Falkreath, I recall from our talks in Solitude that you had morbid interest in any items I might have for sale. At the time, I didn't have any left in stock. But Selrun Mor arrived yesterday ahead of Jarl Laila's party and he brought some leftover souvenirs he hadn't sold me. This assassination attempt on the Emperor put into his mind the thought that the items were bad luck and he didn't need to be involved in any more assassin games and so he brought them here to sell to me." Revyn went to a side table and picked up the box that was sitting there. He brought it over to Motierre and opened it.

"One alchemist's silver dagger, a couple of tasteless bone decorated rings, and, ah, this iron bit on a silver chain necklace. The imperial dragon debossed on it.

"Now that one is a curious piece. I have to think it an imitation, a counterfeit. What is a replica of an Elder Councilor sigil of office doing in the hands of assassins? Surely a fake. Except that I tested the metal and found it to be of meteorite iron such as the ayleids used.

"One would think the Elder Councilors would be given tokens of gold or precious platinum. Instead, the Empress Alessia had the tokens forged from same star iron the ayleids used for their weapons. Star metal from the forges of the gods.

"Surely you could tell me if it's genuine or not, my lord. You would have an amulet I could compare it to, do you not?"

Motierre's initial jovial mask had faded to be replaced by an expression of grim intent. "No, I didn't think I would need it while traveling abroad. It's locked in my treasury at home in Cyrodiil," Motierre said. "But you say this was found in possession of the Dark Brotherhood? Infamous!"

"Infamous and quite valuable. Worth thousands in favors and gold in the hands of the unscrupulous if it is genuine. Selrun had no idea of its significance or its value. To him, it was just an iron ornament that he didn't think I would be interested in buying when he first brought me items to sell."

"What do you plan to do with it?"

"Well, my first thought was to bring it to the Emperor. There's a councilor out there who may have sold his office in exchange for a very important, a world-changing kill. When Selrun took out the Dark Brotherhood, he found evidence that Vittoria Vici was to have been the first of many targets. The Emperor's cousin. Although why bother is a question. She's not a candidate for the throne, especially since she's marrying a commoner of a family affiliated with rebels. Her death would only put his guards on high alert.

"I can only surmise the ego of the Dark Brotherhood demanded they make some sort of clumsy statement to the world that they were back so that they could kill the Emperor even when his guards were ready for a strike. Fools. They deserved to die for that.

"If I gave it back to the Emperor, to find the traitor all he would have to do is call a meeting of the Elder Council and demand that they all show their amulets. The one who failed to produce would then be the traitor. Who do you think that would be?"

"You're playing a dangerous game, my friend," warned Motierre.

"No more dangerous than the one you're playing," said Revyn. "My life was saved by a Dominion soldier defecting from her post in Markarth. She does not have names but she knows for surety there is a traitor in Jarl Ulfric's court and another who stands close to the Emperor.

"Now if I were a right-thinking, loyal subject of the Empire I should have brought the amulet and my concerns directly to the Emperor. If. There are too many in Windhelm who remember the Empire leaving Morrowind as the Oblivion Gates sprang open and we were left to fend for ourselves. This does not inspire me to any sort great loyalty.

"I can also say my Felix in-laws are also a tad tired of their Mede cousins. The connection was only a single marriage and Titus Mede has no Felix blood in him and he rejected the Felix name when his mother married into the clan. But he did take Felix money to buy his first army. He accepted Felix help when his armies marched to take the Ruby Throne.

"This second Titus Mede has even less claim. A candidate chosen from a pool of Mede cousins. Not even a marriage tie with the Felix. And there's no new Mede generation to choose from. Invalid for one reason or another, or dead. Such a sad state.

"The Felixes would probably not agree with me at first, but I am thinking a new blood alliance may be worth pursuing." Revyn paced around the room, too intent on chasing an idea to sit still. "The Medes are faltering and they are spending, have spent, a great deal to support their rule. They are a generous clan to their own member. Very supportive. I am constantly surprised at how much help they've been willing to give to me and to my kinsmer that I've been rediscovering. I have reciprocated.

"And now you are courting dear Lyrca. She seems taken with you. This has given me ideas. What are your thoughts, my dear Amaund?"

"That you are a devious, ambitious mer, my dear Revyn," said Motierre, smiling tightly. "You live up to your reputation as a schemer."

"A schemer?" said Revyn. "Is that all? A schemer just makes plans. I make things happen. I influence, I effect. I do not scheme. I think you have some potential, although your handling of the Dark Brotherhood gives me some doubts. Why did you go to that incompetent lot? For sentiment's sake because a house ancestress was an assassin? Oh, yes, of course I've fished around for information on your family. Purely business, you understand. Knowing one's rivals in the marketplace.

"Still, you are well placed to seize power should Titus Mede die. But you are also heavily in debt to the Dominion. You may wish to rethink that debt burden."

"You think you can offer me better terms? Not you, though. Your wealth is Felix wealth. Have you recommended me to Horace Felix already then? Does he consider me a favored candidate for Lyrca's hand?"

"Yes. He does consider an Elder Councilor more favorable than a rich altmer family of the weaver's guild in Kvatch."

"Ah, then I am well poised to claim a Felix connection without your further interference. And their wealth would be helpful as I take my place on the throne. But I don't need any more gods damned elf advisors."

Revyn stopped his pacing and turned to focus on Motierre. The Elder Councilor had picked up the sword Revyn had been polishing.

"Put that down. Let's not be hasty," Revyn advised.

"Your servant girl is going to return to discover that an assassin did get to you. How tragic. You should have taken the warning more seriously and protected yourself better. I will be properly horrified. I also could have been killed. I will assuredly rush back to make sure your delicate cousins are properly consoled and protected. Especially Lyrca."

"You're looking feverish, Amaund. Put down the sword."

Motierre moved quickly to place himself between Revyn and the door. "Don't worry about your wife. She's still so young and pretty; I'll make sure she finds a wealthy match to a properly influential family that can handle her headstrong ways."

"Another appalling demonstration of your inability to correctly assess asset performance," said Revyn with undisguised disgust. "Last warning, Motierre, put that blade down now!"

"You die first."

Motierre chased Revyn around the room twice before falling over dead.

The mirror panel slid open revealing five observers. General Tullius, Legate Maro, a Legion scribe, Selrun Mor, and Irileth.

"I don't know if that was technically a confession on Motierre's part," said Tullius, staring down at Motierre.

"He didn't deny anything, general," said Irileth. She looked at Revyn. "What was the poison you used?" she asked.

"Sybnach beetle oil and fox leaf juice. Sybnach oil numbs which allays the sting of the fox leaf juice seeping through his palm and into the blood. Fox leaf is a plant one finds in the Rift. Pretty, red leaves like the ears of a fox. Its juice has the frightening effect of turning one's blood to jelly." Revyn had donned new gloves he'd had in his pocket and he pulled the sword out of Motierre's grasp. He got out a bottle of flin from a cupboard and poured it onto a dust rag and wiped off the blade. The leather on the hilt he cut off, discarding the poison soaked leather into a clay bowl.

"Keep the blade, sedura," said Irileth. "Balgruuf would not have that thing anywhere near his children again. Besides, you seem deserving to be its keeper."

"Um, thank you?"

"What kind of mirror is this?" asked Legate Maro. It seems solid on this side yet we could see through it."

"It's a new invention from the College of Winterhold. It was to be installed at Breezehome, but I borrowed it, so please be careful with that knife and don't scratch the surface."

"We could've used more information out of him," grumbled Tullius.

"Talk to Lyrca, general. I believe she's at the north encampment overseeing a sausage eating and beer drinking contest," said Revyn. "She has names and places. Motierre was doing his best to impress her and he believed the lies we told him that she's didn't have any room in her head for anything but her next art project so he took no precautions." The general looked markedly happier. Maro nodded and took the scribe with him when he left to find Miss Felix.

General Tullius saw to Motierre's removal.

"When you're ready, I'll escort you to Dragonsreach. The Emperor and Balgruuf will want to hear the details from you," said Irileth.

"I'll see to the clean up in here, get the mirror back to my daughter, and I'll rewrap the sword hilt myself. Just be sure you return for it," ordered Selrun. "I do not want it in my camp any longer than necessary." He glanced at the black oil covering Revyn's gloved hands to the black ebony of the blade that seemed to be glistening even without its coating of oil, exchanged a look with Irileth, and wrapped up Mephala's Blade in a thick curtain cloth.


	58. Ghost Night

_A/N: Time travel. It's Frost Fall. Time to put your favorite brew in the witch's cauldron, a good soup or a spice wine, and fortify yourself against oncoming darkness. At least in the northern hemisphere. Come to think of it, where is the equator on Nirn? Not sure if Witches Festival is a thing in Morrowind, but maybe it became an event once they moved to other parts of Tamriel, but I'm sure they must have had some sort of day or month for the honored ancestors._

* * *

 **Ghost Night**

"Thank you for shopping at Sadri's Used Wares. Have a safe night." Sadri shut the door behind his last customer and shoved the deadbolt into the floor. There was a party going on next door at the Cornerclub on this 13th of Frost Fall, Witches' Night to most of the Empire except in Morrowind where it was Mephala's honor day, but he wasn't in the mood right now. Maybe in a couple hours after a light nap and a count of the day's till.

He looked around his store. There was a definite chill inside tonight. He ran a pawn shop. He always had ghosts about and he didn't need any witches for that. He went to the adjacent room, his living area, and threw two more logs onto the hearth. He dragged a chair closer and sat down and sighed.

She couldn't make it back this month. She was still out there, somewhere, chasing another word, another serpent. She'd sent another shipment instead of bones and weapons and gems. The latter two he'd clean up, price, and put in the shop. The bones, he'd store the large pieces with the others in the attic and the shards he'd attach handles to. They made good spades and hoes that cut through frozen soil and ice without dulling. Very popular with the farmers hereabouts.

He counted his till and made entries into the sales log. A good day. He hid the cash box, spent some time praying at the small ancestors shrine tucked in the corner of the room, banked the fire, and went next door.

"Busy night," said Revyn to Ambarys, Cornerclub owner and bartender. Malthyr, his assistant, along with two other servers temporarily hired for the season, wove through the crowd distributing food and drinks. "Quite a number of nords."

"All waiting to catch us dark elves working forbidden magic," Ambarys grunted sourly. "Can't tell 'em that dunmer do not consider necromancy our primary religion. Ignorant fetchers."

Revyn, nibbling through a sampler plate of picked up a breaded, fried offerings, smiled and said, "I'll wager you didn't tell them they were eating ash hoppers strips, minced kwama, and pickled dragon frogs."

"Oh, shut it. The nords are buying and eating."

"The vinegar has a nice peppery flavor. What spice did you use?"

"Talbur leaf. Bought it from Ma'dran."

A drunken nord barged into the space beside Revyn. "Where's the dead? When're you lot gonna bring out your dead?"

"Here's another drink. When you fall over then we'll bring you out onto the street for all to see." Ambarys shoved another tankard into his hands which he gladly took a sloppy drink from, splashing Revyn along the way. Revyn pushed him back towards his fellow drunks.

Ambarys had to get busy with drinks leaving Revyn to his own thoughts and drink. A light caress across his shoulders. Revyn turned, frowning, to see a pretty female smiling at him. "You look to be pleasant, sober company," she said.

"Apologies, but I am not in the mood to socialize tonight." He had to repeat that four more times that night. He hadn't been starved for company before he was married and now after, when it became known his wife left for weeks or months at a time and regularly sent him rich items to sell, he got propositioned on an appallingly regular basis. Ambarys and Malthyr didn't help. For them it was a bet to see how many tried.

Two bards were performing that night. Male and female. The male, a nord, had finished his set and was having a drink. The female, a dunmer from Blacklight, began her set of Morrowind songs.

Revyn smiled sadly as he remembered the first night he'd heard his beloved sing. She had come into his store earlier that day. Lightly flirted with him. A familiar tactic with some female adventurers testing to see if they could get better prices. He did give her a good price, not because of the flirting but because the goods she brought in were quality stuff instead of the leftovers of what couldn't be sold to the richer merchants in the Stone Quarter.

Her attempt at a Solstheim Redoran accent had been clumsy. He hadn't been particularly careful of his volume as he'd made that comment in dunmeri to Ambarys. She'd moved closer to him and grinned cheekily. Her next song knocked him back. Hlaalu, high court accent and phrasing that he hadn't heard since his boyhood in Vivec City when he ran deliveries to the upper districts of the Hlaalu Canton. No wonder her attempt at common street sounded so awful if she was a member of the noble class. And once she stopped trying to sound like a commoner she sang like a divine, the music flowing more naturally.

Now he just wanted to go home and sleep. Maybe he'd get up earlier tomorrow to make a prayer to the Ancestors so that he didn't start the day depressed. He had some glow dust that he could spare from inventory. That would be a welcome, extra light at the shrine and its corner of the room.

He walked into his shop and stopped as he saw and heard the fire in his room was brighter and larger. He smelled fresh brewing tea. He rushed forward with bursting hopefulness.

She grinned at him. "Hey, sweetheart, thought it was overdue that I made time for you."

Whatever it was she'd been doing, she seemed tired and the shadows dancing across her face made her seem so much older. But, oh, she was still so beautiful. He went to her. She'd unrolled a thick sabercat skin rug near the fire and was sitting on one of the large cushions she'd thrown on top of it. Her armor and weapons lay in a pile on top of his narrow bed.

"Thank you for coming back," he murmured as he embraced her. As he dropped kisses along her neck and cheek he inhaled deeply, reveling in her scent.

"It was worth the energy to get here," she murmured cryptically, nipping at his neck. Her strong fingers, urgent with need, kneaded almost painfully into his back and ribs as they stimulated his whole body to tense anticipation. "I wish I could stay longer, my love, but I have to leave before morning.

"What? But I haven't seen you in months," he wailed.

"I know. I'm thoughtless and heartless and I demand too much from you. Let me confess to you now, Revyn dearest, each time I leave you I leave with the fear that I'm pushing my luck. I fear you'll get tired of waiting and you'll be gone by the time I return. Times are moving and I can't stay."

"As I said before, I knew the price when I wed an Armiger. Duty will always come first. Now hush; I'll always wait for you," he vowed, kissing her eyelids, licking her tears. "I will always be there for you."

She laughed, a strange, wild sound. "Yes. I know."

Revyn gasped in shock when she started ripping at his clothes. There was violence in her passion he'd not experienced before. He didn't know where she'd been; he was afraid to ask what she'd been experiencing. His child bride, only 20 now, seemed imbued with a strange frenzy that was frightening. Her eyes burned with fires stronger than the dragonfire that had engulfed him on their wedding day two years ago.

He could only moan as he surrendered to her heat, giving up all his own spirit's fire.

He was wrapped in furs when he woke up. The hearthfire had been built back up and the room was toasty. There was a fresh pot of tea at hand and warm savory rolls.

Yet he was cold. She was gone. His bed was empty of her armor.

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Was it worth it, young Dovakiin, to _kren tiid_ , break time?" asked Paarthurnax.

"I'm about to take a second husband, dearest _fahdon_. I am marrying the brother of the new High King of a reunified Skyrim. I am fond of him, but this is a political marriage. And I can't go through it. Not until I make things right with Revyn.

"My greatest fear. I wasn't there when he passed. I couldn't leave the Akavir peace talks. Eighty Frost Falls since his death I've wondered who it was my husband lay with that night. When I got the letter from him thanking me for making time for him that night I was confused and shocked and hurt that he was bedding someone else. Had he been drugged? Drunk? to think it was me? And when I next saw him, as always so grateful to see me and so eager to hear of my adventures, I couldn't berate him about that letter. Something — maybe the wisdom of Akatosh — kept my mouth shut about that. I've always wondered though.

"And after he died I still talked to him. Prayed. He only manifested once that I know of, and it was in aide to our daughter who was fighting off assassins. Through her he sent the message that I was the only one he'd ever held on Frost Fall.

"Since then it's been a peculiar madness. One that either broke me, or I broke time to make. "

She sighed and held her hand in the time wound that Alduin had torn open at the Throat of the World. "See you soon in the next two centuries."

Paarthurnax lay in the snows before the time wound, contemplating the riddle of a ghost of a future that might be. The Tower was the sigil of Frost Fall and the towers of the world shook even now in the instability of a yet to be fulfilled destiny.


	59. Family Investments

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Family Investments**

"They're getting bored. We need more bones," Ketil stated then went back to his mosaics. His current project was a series of stoneware urns that depicted Whiterun's countryside. It was an order from Jarl Balgruuf that would be gifted to the Emperor.

Revyn had built the whole workshop for him and hired a former Dawnstar guardsman, Gregor, to manage the Heljarchen property.

Over a year ago Revyn had, on a mad whim, ventured to bargain with the giants of the Stonehill Bluff area. Using crude pictures painted on large canvasses and with pantomime for speech he'd managed to "buy" their services. They ground a few dragonbones for him and he gave them an acceptable amount of cattle for each bone. The advice from a farmer he'd accidentally come across, whose family had at least three generations of giant "protection" (one fat cow a year for a year of peace on the farm — no mammoths walking through, no bears or sabercats allowed in the vicinity), was that the giants worked best with people who stuck long enough around for them to identify and feel comfortable with.

So Revyn did a search for a nord mad enough to court a relationship with the giants there. He found Ketil, an artist whose dream was to have a large workshop for his artwork and a generous patron. All Revyn asked him to do was to work with the giants and to put up with a Winterhold College scholar who wanted to study and document the giants. In return, Ketil gets his dream, a workshop and a staff that would see to food and supplies and cattle and other business affairs while he concentrated on his art.

And it was a lucky score again when Gregor, the landless third son of a minor noble, applied to be the property's steward. Before then he'd been in Jarl Skald's service and selected to be the potential housecarl to any new thane that Skald might take. A respectable position. But he'd become doubtful of serving any thane who indulged his Jarl's pettiness against non-nords and any he perceived as traitors because they didn't hate the empire as he did. And his condition that any new thane kill giants in spite of imperial decree struck Gregor as beyond pettiness and into viciousness. So, with apologies to his family and with curses from the Jarl, he decided to retire from the guards and seek employment under a pair of dark elves.

Gregor wasn't only just a capable warrior he also knew basic land management, bookkeeping, and any number of skills that made for a good country steward. Revyn arranged for him to take lessons once a month with the Dragonborn's Whiterun steward on trade contracts and mercantile laws. After an evaluation period, she recommended he be let in on the secret of the Dragonborn's true identity.

Revyn followed Ketil into his workshop. "Bored? Last time you said they were losing interest?"

"That was before Ooshi has decided to look for a mate and he wants cattle to impress," Ketil brusquely informed him. Revyn didn't ask who "Ooshi" was. Ketil had name for each local giant and so far only he could tell which one was which or how he came up with the names.

Bennett, the Winterhold scholar stationed at Heljarchen to study the giants, said that Ketil and the giants had worked out a picture-based understanding of ideas that were highly contextual and individual to each giant. Frustrating as hell. There was little audible language he could even attempt to study. A khajiit Destruction mage sent by the College confirmed Revyn's suspicions that much of the giants' language was in a range below human hearing and just at the edges of mer and betmer hearing. Master Urag complained that his reports read like studies on Ketil rather than on the giants.

"Ah, well, persuade them to be patient a while longer. I am having bones shipped in from Solstheim. I am awaiting Redoran approval of the export agreement. As soon as that's done, the bones will be dug up and shipped out."

"Whatever. I'll let Ooshi know more bones are coming."

"And this order for obsidian. I don't know if comes in the sizes you want. What do you need it for?"

"Balvu wants it. I bought a large piece from a khajiit. Balvu was making a sewing needle for some mammoth leather. I gave her the obsidian. She wants more. She wants one big enough to knap a skinning knife from."

"All right, I'll start looking."

"How long do I have to put up with the jarls? They make too much noise. Too many people. The giants are irritated. That Skald keeps talking about killing my friends. Complains the gold they bring in isn't worth it!"

Jarls Ulfric, Skald, and Korir had taken over the main house. The tents of their troops encircled the property. Ketil had been driven to sleeping in the hayloft of the small barn for the property's carthorse and two milk cows and half dozen goats.

The jarls were crowded into this estate owned by Faro and Sadri because they weren't confortable staying in Whiterun where they would be surrounded by enemies. The only Stormcloak Jarl in Whiterun was Jarl Laila of Riften, and she and her guards were staying outside the city walls at the Honningbrew Meadery.

Revyn heaved a sigh and put a hand over his eyes. "I can't promise any time soon. It's politics." Ketil made a sound of disgust and concentrated on his art. Revyn went to find Gregor. Lycra rushed past him clutching a large bowl of colored stones pieces. She was absolutely in love with Ketil's mosaics.

He found Gregor in the entry hall discussing with Flora, Crystal, and Jarl Ulfric the many items displayed there — a couple of mammoth bone clubs, knapped spearheads, meat cutters, axe heads, bone amulets and pins and ornaments. The prize of the collection was a dragonbone-mold shield, one of the first complete pieces that Nisil Feren, master armorer, of Blacklight had created from the new material. Stronger than a daedric shield yet lighter than either daedric or ebony or even a shield of stretched hide over a wood frame. The armorer was experimenting with a new process that forced air into the bone-dust slurry to create pieces that, when cut apart with diamond dust coated wire, showed an airy internal structure. Revyn found he could effortless heft and maneuver the shield. He was certain, however, his arm would shatter before the shield ever would to a good mace strike. He would definitely have to check with Helsette for her preferred style of armor. Nisil Feren owed him a free set of armor for granting him and Turik Galan, master weaponsmith, first shipments and future preferred status for dragonbone dust.

The ladies found something else to do. Jarl Ulfric, however, stuck around to listen while he discussed with Gregor the likely future for the giants in view of the separation of Skyrim Holds. Jarl Skald, free of the imperial decree that protected the giants, would immediately order their slaughter.

As currently stands, Whiterun provided extra patrols on their side of the border to keep the area clear of bandits, and for that Revyn arranged for a share of the profits to be donated into Whiterun's reserve for mates and orphans of fallen guards. A small group of mercenaries patrolled the Pale side of the border and any bandits they caught targeting Heljarchen or the giants they marched to the border to turn over to the Whiterun guards. And any of Skald's people who would harass the giants, given their jarl's distaste of the creatures that were now providing him gold via the taxes he levied on the Heljarchen venture, well, if caught on Heljarchen property were charged with malicious trespassing. It was the most that Gregor could get Skald's court to pronounce, but it was up to Gregor to collect. Any disputants Gregor challenged to _holmgang_ according to older laws and given another chance to pay the fine or pick up their favored weapon and argue with Gregor one-on-one to overturn the debt.

Once the separation of the Stormcloaks, or the Old Holds, was complete, Imperial-allied Whiterun would naturally withdraw its patrols. It was also likely the prices Heljarchen currently paid for goats and cattle would change as most of them also came from Whiterun farms because Dawnstar farmers did not want to attract Skald's disfavor.

Ulfric demanded to be shown Heljarchen's account books. Revyn reluctantly nodded for Gregor to fetch them. Ulfric later announced after some hours of study that it was an easy problem to solve. He would make it clear to Skald that he, too, considered the giants a species that should be allowed to live. As for the funds to pay for private patrols, Revyn or Gregor should start interviewing for local, silent investors. It should be an easy enough task given that the Jarl of Windhelm has also made an investment right along with the Dragonborn.

Right?

For Revyn had chosen the akaviri symbol of the dragonborn to be carved on the great boulder beside the hall so that the giants would associate it with the "friends" that lived there.

Nords and imperial scholars also knew the ancient symbol meant Dragonborn. He wouldn't use her symbol unless she had invested in the venture, right?

When other Pale nobles invested, Skald would have to make efforts to see that proper protection was provided or face the ire of his own people who may decide another jarl was needed to champion their interests.

"It would likely work, my jarl," said Revyn, resigned. "Give me some days to review laws to be able to write up a contract."

"You do that. I will speak to Skald."

"Thank you, my jarl."

+—+—+—+—+—+—+

"Have you heard from my wife yet?"

"Not yet, sedura," said Adassa Velot, the secretary at Breezehome. "No one has heard or seen her since she left Markarth. We even have someone waiting in Darkfall cave in case they returned there. We have even sent someone to Volkihar to talk to Lady Volkihar. She said the mistress visited and even summoned the Soul Cairn dragon to ask if he knew of falmer souls sent there. Then they left and she does not know for where. Father also has people on the lookout in Falkreath in case she's gone a southern route to get to High Hrothgar."

"Winterhold?"

"The masters of the College are also actively looking. They are also agitated. They say discoveries have been made by their newest colleague, the one who invented that one-way mirror. They say that the hidden dwemer ruin found underneath the atmoran temple has ancient falmer connections. Their researcher, Curtis Johnson, asserts that there are ancient falmer alive somewhere within. A claim he bases on a dream conversation with the late archimage. Mage-Lord Baladas believed him enough to fund the research, so at least they aren't requesting additional funds from you for it. Here are the latest decoded missives from them. Master Urag also requests you find time to meet with Sera Johnson."

"Indeed? That would explain the words of the prelates." Revyn sat and recalled his journey with Falmer Knight-Paladin Gelebor through the wayshrines of the Vale. The ghost prelates specifically said the champion of the god, Jhunal, was to be found in Winterhold.

Then Slitter from Raven Rock had appeared in Winterhold claiming to be a reborn soul by the name of Curtis Johnson. He claimed that when he died he saw an owl and its name was Savos Aren. Revyn asked Ralis to look into Slitter's claim. Ralis confirmed that this new entity was not a ruse; that it was impossible to pretend the depth of unique knowledge or skill Ser Johnson displayed, nor could the reborn soul credibly fake at ever having been a dunmer.

"By the Ancestors. And I'm stuck here." He grabbed parchment and a pen and hastily wrote a letter to Master of Wizards Tolfdir advising him of the ancient falmer paladin on his way to Winterhold.

Adassa, reading as he wrote, said, "Best to send by word of mouth. Master Urag warns of Thalmor spies. They've caught a few among the project workers and even posing as new students. The surge of innovations at Winterhold has brought the consequence of unwanted interest."

"Hm. Very well. I'll send Gregor. With the Stormcloak Jarls staying at Heljarchen, it would be expected they would again send a demand for the Archimage to present herself at Whiterun. So, just another repetitous message and nothing worth intercepting him about."

His next visit was with the Emperor and Jarl Balgruuf to inform them and to apologize that the Archimage had not yet been found. Jarl Ulfric had sent another courier to Winterhold and Stormcloaks were now also on the lookout for her. Legate Maro suggested sending a Penitus Oculatus courier to Winterhold College to reinforce the summons and the Emperor agreed.

"Nothing like repetitious calls," agreed Revyn, smiling ruefully.

+—+—+—+—+—+

"So you have a Tongue."

"Yeah. Who knew. I thought it was only nords. But then, again, I thought only nords could be Dragonborn."

Revyn grinned and then went to a side table of to fill his plate. He was having dinner at Jorrvaskr with Nicky and Athis. The Harbinger had honored them with his presence and Farkas and Amalie were also there along with Farkas's brother, Vilkas. When he returned to his seat he said, "Well, you know nords have this habit of barging around Tamriel and getting into trouble." The nords present rumbled their agreement and shared some toasts. "Who's to say you might not have nord blood in you," continued Revyn. "It would, in fact, correspond with rumors about House Ra'athim of the Hlaalu.

"As you know, during the second akaviri invasion, the court of Windhelm was driven to take refuge in Morrowind. In Mournhold to be exact. And you know how fussy traditionalists in Morrowind can be about the purity of Houses and bloodlines. Ugly rumors have been circulating for centuries that House of Ra'athim's blood may not be as pure as they'd like people to think. The nords were there twenty years."

"Plenty of engagements to carry out," Amalie quipped, drawing more laughs. "For all we know, Ulfric might be our distant cousin... On the dunmer side."

Revyn smiled weakly amidst the laughter and jokes. "The innate talents of imperials and nords are similar in the focus of verbal skills. For instance, Nicky, I've seen you calm angry forsworn with your Voice of the Emperor, a power for calling peace. The nord battle-roar is well documented and akin to a fear or route spell. But where did you pick up the dragon word for fire?"

"Dustman's Cairn. I was being tested for full admission to the Companions and Farkas here was my evaluator. I was also going there to look for Wuuthrad pieces. When we got there we found Helsette about to go in. She said the Dragonborn had hired her to confirm the rumor of a dragon wall." Nicky was altering facts. Everyone at the immediate table knew Helsette was the Dragonborn, but they were in a crowded room and the other Companions didn't know. "Fortunately, Farkas didn't think her coming along would detract from my testing."

"Damn good thing she did come along," said Farkas. "An extra sword was useful."

Nicky told the rest of the story and concluded with, "And we talked about that word as we all walked back to Whiterun."

"You and she talked. I just wanted you to do it softer. That crazy Boethian cultist almost got the jump on us because of your sh-, chattering," Farkas complained.

"Anyway, the word stuck," said Nicky. "I thought about it a lot. Kinda became a weird obsession."

"You did spend a lot of time at the forge," commented the Harbinger. "Eorland talked of using you as an armor stand the way you just stood there for hours staring into the fires."

"Well, he did stick a helmet on me a couple of times when he wanted me to go away," confessed Nicky. "Backwards. He stuck the helmet on backwards.

"I started using those meditation exercises Cousin Taliesin taught me until I was dreaming of breathing fire, being on fire and holding it around me like a wizard's cloak or like Ancestor's Wrath which you used, Revyn, when you defended yourself when you were attacked on your wedding day. In fact, that is what I was thinking when I saw the assassins going for the Emperor. Ancestors Wrath, or Ancestors Sanctuary as you like to call it. Our family had invested so much him that I couldn't let him die that way. I was calling on my Ancestors to help me. Next thing, I was shouting fire." He barked a short, sharp laugh. "Maybe there's some more fiery dunmer mixed into the blow-hard nord blood that might have sneaked into our imperial line. We Felixes tend to wander far from our Colovial Highland estates. We got habits of bringing home foreign mates.

"Oh, but I'm no dragonborn. When me and Vilkas and Aela and the Whiterun dragon patrol killed that dragon bothering the farms south of here, I didn't get any dragon soul from its corpse. Its body just lay there for a couple of weeks until Alduin came by and shouted it back to life."

"Did you have a chance to speak to the Tongues of High Hrothgar?" asked Revyn.

"Yeah. Even had the great honor of speaking with Paarthurnax, who gave me advice on meditations to further my understanding of fire."

"I heard the Graybeards were injured," said Amalie. "How were they when you left?"

"Pretty good actually. They let one of the dunmer healers camping outside use his skill. They kinda had to. The assassins were using poisoned weapons and they didn't have the skill to treat that on their own. The healer was able to patch up their worst injuries so they should make a full recovery."

"And once again the dunmer save the day," said Athis. "Yes!"

* * *

 _GalacticHalfling: Nothing definitive so far as I can tell. In my conception it's a possible benefit yet not an automatic one. I believe there should be some steps that have to be taken first._


	60. Thieves & Watchdogs

_A/N: Neloth, "I promise that any unrelated memories I run across will be kept in the strictest of confidences." Such a little plot device, such potential implications. Then I was recently reading recent articles about using dogs as diagnostic tools. Bingo. B-I-N-G-O._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Thieves & Watchdogs**

Farkas watched as the three ducked into the dark corners of Honningbrew Meadery's boilery instead of returning to their wagon after delivering and unloading their load of hops. The meadery workers didn't notice; they had orders to fill and only the night hours to do it. Daytime festivities and too many people wandering about made daytime work near impossible. There weren't many guards at this time because they just got in the way. Farkas followed the false delivery people as they made their way into the underground cavern that ran between the meadery and the boilery.

Normally, the meadery only employed two security guards. Those two had bonus time off while Jarl Laila's Riften guards were supposed to be watching the place. Which they did during the daytime, but at night they slacked off and stole stock to drink. The Ivarstead dunmer soldiers, Commander Mor's people, had come with Jarl Laila as extra escort, but she didn't use them for her own security so while they were here the dunmer were out earning coin by subcontracting Julian Victor's mercenaries who held the contract with Whiterun to provide safety patrols outside of the city during the Moot. They only returned to their tents in the field behind the meadery to sleep.

A year ago the new owner of the Honningbrew Meadery came to the Companions looking for her cousin, Companion Nicky, a young imperial who was quickly earning his way towards the Inner Circle. But Nicky was away and her skeever problem couldn't wait. Normally, she'd said, she could do her own hunting and killing, but she had a fear about rats and Skyrim's skeevers were as big and obnoxious as Cyrodiil sewer rats.

Simple skeever killing was beneath him as a member of the Companion's inner circle, but she was family to Companion Nicky. He liked Nicky. The cub worked hard, was learning skills as fast as anybody could teach him, and had great future leadership potential.

And Cousin Amalie, Farkas liked her even more. He understood her fear of rats and skeevers. He felt the same way about giant spiders. He believed her when she said she'd normally handle this problem herself. He recalled Nicky boasting that she could shoot as good as Aela, not just on foot but also on horseback. And she'd brought her three Colovial Coursers, herder and defense dogs. Giant, ambulatory mops. Their thick, ropy fur helped to shrug off the teeth and claws of big predators.

Anyways, once he'd let her know that Nicky was out on assignment, she promptly offered to pay full rate for an experienced Companion. "This isn't' just a rat hunt," she'd warned. "These are bigger and are monsters. They actually killed Misty, the mother of my remaining two dogs, and she's hunted wolf packs, bears, and mountain cats. These aren't natural rats. Their saliva is toxic. That's what killed my Misty. Their bites didn't get through her coat, but one did nip and slobber all over her paw. There was poison there and then more poison when she was licking the bite wound and surrounding fur. I hunted down and beat out of Mallus what he knew about those things. Oh, he knew all about the mad alchemist down there doing experiments on the rats and he didn't care. He really hated Sabjorn, the former owner."

So Farkas took the job. Good thing, too. One had to have the innate, special gifts of that only the Circle had of speed and endurance to dodge all those firebolts the alchemist threw and to push past the effects of the skeever venom. If he'd sent anyone else, they'd be dead. He found the alchemist's journal and as Amalie read it aloud, they both had a good laugh. Slow as he was sometimes, even he would never think he could conquer the world with an army of venomous skeevers.

The thieves moved confidently towards the meadery entrance. Farkas wasn't wearing armor tonight, it wasn't necessary, so he was able to move silently and there were enough shadowed places that even one of his size could stay hidden. They didn't bother keeping their voices too quiet as they discussed some new technique to try to break into the cash boxes in the front tasting room. Dummy boxes, Amalie called them because the real safe was somewhere else and spell trapped. The dummy boxes had different locks. Thieves had emptied one, now they were coming back to try the other two. Also to steal more silverware and other items Jarl Laila and her people left lying about. It was all actually Amalie's silverware and good silks and fine glassware, but since it wasn't actually their jarl's property, her people were pretty casual about leaving the stuff lying about. They blamed the store staff for not cleaning up after them even after being told the store staff were not house servants.

Then a moving shadow passed him; a waft of warmth, the faintest scent of leather and sweat, a healthy predator.

"Stop, scum." Out of that darkness a tall male in a fancier and tougher version of Thieves Guild armor appeared. An alpha. His face was masked but his accent, his vocal mannerisms was altmer. "Normally, we would have merely alerted the guards to your presence, but this isn't your first time here nor your first time stealing from those who have Guild protection."

"Thieves Guild? They're a joke," sneered a non-pack.

"Perhaps two years ago that was so, but since then I've taken over and I won't have competition. We have been following you and you deliberately target our protected. I am therefore obliged to gut you." He drew a shortsword and dagger. The non-pack all pulled daggers and small clubs.

A mistake for all three to focus solely on the visible threat. Farkas had seen a second shadow moving behind. Smaller, healthy, and sweeter scented.

An arrow went through the back of the neck of the leader of the three and, with that action, the second shadow became visible. She already had a second arrow notched and drawn.

One attempted to throw a knife at the archer and lost his throwing arm at the elbow to the alpha's sword, and then his head followed his arm. The third dropped his weapons and stood, fist clenched, awaiting his death. The alpha told him, "Get out. Quietly. If we have to fight our way through guards, we'll come looking for the noisy bird responsible. Let what's left of your friends whom my guildmates didn't find tonight know they either join the Guild proper or find other ways to gain coin."

The survivor did a credible job of fleeing quietly despite his panic.

"Any idea where we should dump these, Linwe?" asked the female.

"Normally, I'd think the river and let the mudcrabs strip the bodies, but with so many new patrols about and hungry people fishing out the river and even the crabs..." The alpha sighed.

Farkas gently cleared his throat and smiled as the two whirled about to face him with weapons drawn. Farkas didn't move except to turn his face to the woman. "You're Revyn's niece, Karliah, right? Amalie and the girls have been hoping you'd come by. Amalie's mother, Cadence, told them all about you. You gave them good prices on Goldenglow and Honningbrew.

"I'm Farkas and I'm going to marry Amalie. Guess that makes us cousins."

"Kind of you to say, but there is no kinship," said the woman in an amused tone. She lowered her weapon only slightly. "I am not truly bloodkin to Sadri. My father was his friend and I call him 'uncle' out of fondness and respect. The Felix's owe nothing to me. What I sold them were tools of revenge and I have no concerns for the land or businesses once I sold them."

"OK. But the girls are really hoping to meet you. When we started noticing the thefts, Revyn said you'd be here soon to defend your territory."

"This is all very interesting," interrupted the alpha, "but what are your intentions?"

Farkas blinked slowly at him, wondering if the alpha was a bit dim. "I'm obviously not gonna kill you. And I want you to get back that silverware tea set I bought Amalie."

"We're doing our best to recover what was stolen," said Karliah. "Giving us a list of what's missing would be helpful."

"Oh. Wish I could. Amalie would know better but she and the girl's are away at Heljarchen. Can you wait around two or three days? I'll send a courier first thing in the morning." Farkas moved out of the niche he'd been observing in. "Come on, I'm feeling thirsty and I'm sure you two might like some drinks..."

"But the bodies?" Karliah asked.

"Oh, Commander Mor will take care of them."

"Very well. Then we'll see ourselves out," said the alpha.

"Best you go with him and not wander about on your own yet, sera," warned Mor, appearing on the empty top shelf of a wall rack. He tilted his crossbow up and away from them to aim at the ceiling. Two others appeared lying on other, lower empty shelves; one held another a crossbow and the other, a mage staff.

"Ah. Well, I'm surprised you didn't stop the thievery before we had to interfere," said the guildmaster in a much put-out tone.

"We kicked the regular Riften guards off guard duty yesterday. Those lazy s'wits will still escort her to and from Whiterun for the Moot, shopping, and any social visits, but we're the watchdogs here now. What an unfortunate time to visit... with your cousin."

The alpha coughed lightly. "Yes, bad timing on our part. So lead on, Cousin Farkas."

"Uh-huh." Farkas led the two out of the boilery and across the yard to the tasting room of the Meadery. There wouldn't be employees coming in to set up the room for customers for some hours yet. Mor's people who had replaced the regular Riften nord guards were in their places upstairs. The one guard who patrolled the lower rooms had already passed through, acknowledged Farkas's authority to go where he pleased with a nod, and had stationed herself outside at the front door with the other guard. Farkas went behind the bar to pour drinks.

Karliah turned out to be a very pretty woman. The guildmaster was predominantly altmer. Farkas had drinks poured when the guards knocked and then escorted in a third leather-armored and masked guild member.

The alpha's shoulders bunched slightly. Irritated and yet resigned. His quick, glaring glance screamed, "What are you doing here?"

The newcomer threw his shoulders back. Confident yet accepting his fate. The shift in head position said, "Sorry."

"Backup patrols found this one prowling the hillside perimeter, sera" the guard reported.

"Huh. It's OK. He's with these two."

"Aye, sera."

"If it's drinks we're having, a good, stout ale will do me fine," said the newcomer, boldly sitting himself down at the bar. Karliah grinned while the alpha scowled.

Farkas poured the ale. "Nice to see you've found something better to do than selling fake potions, Brynjolf. That dragonblood salve you sold Ria caused her some nasty rashes. It cost her some jobs because she couldn't wear her armor for days."

"Aye, well, I did say those with delicate skin and constitutions should avoid the cream because it may be too strong for them," the notorious Riften huckster said as he pulled off his masking hood.

"You baited her. I'll get Vilkas talk to her about that." Besides, Ria liked Vilkas a lot and would probably listen better to him on a lecture on using your smarts to recognize that stuff.

Brynjolf was looking at the other two, doing that silent body talking packmates did.

"Invisibility potions and spells. They were lying in wait," explained Karliah.

"Aye. Doubled patrols outside and wizards in the patrols running ghost wolves," said Brynjolf, shaking his head, answering their unspoken questions. "You let one escape, right? Well, he got caught by the backup patrol.

"You wanted to let him go to warn his mates to get off your territory," Farkas recalled. He went to the front door to tell the guards to let that one go.

"So. Will you come back to meet the girls?"

+—+—+—+—+—+

He didn't like Ianus. He might be a long-time family friend and retainer come to bring news and gifts from Amalie's family, but there was something about the man that put Farkas's hackles up. Ianus was funny and nothing about his manners or tone said he lied as he spoke of fond memories of the Felixes or of watching Amalie and her sister growing up, yet there was something.

There was the scent of illness. The man looked like he'd just been through hell. Nicky had confirmed it. Ianus had been temporarily "detained" by the Thalmor. Captured while delivering messages. Nothing, fortunately, beyond business notes and trade agreements, but a rough interrogation just the same. His aunt had sent him to Skyrim to get him away from Colovia. Get him out of Cyrodiil. Give him time to heal.

He confessed to Amalie that Ianus made him uncomfortable. Healers might say he was physically healthy, but Farkas couldn't put his finger on it. Amalie said she'd keep a close eye on him.

Was there a specific telltale sign? A tic, a gesture?

"He looks like he's wandering in his head, like someone remembering bad things" was all he could say. "And he smells different when that happens." He smelled like shit, but that was hardly something he could tell her. Not literal shit, just strongly "off." He didn't have the words to describe it. Had Amalie not already known he was a werewolf, he could not have said even that. Still, it was a lame argument. Of course there would be bad memories when one had been interrogated by the Thalmor. If he wandered in his mind a bit, that, too, was to be expected. The Thalmor didn't hesitate to use foul magic and drugs along with physical torture.

"He smells bad sometimes," was just about the stupidest excuse to tell your love that a lifelong family retainer and friend was not to be trusted.

"All right, dearest. Do something, like, scratch the top of your head if he's smelling off to let me know and I'll try to question him," she said.

+—+—+—+—+—+

The Moot had started. Since it was the jarls only meeting they didn't require either the Harbinger or the Dragonborn to be present. The jarls would settle internal matters before finally meeting with the Emperor. At the conclusion of the first week Amalie threw a "be happy; we haven't killed each other so far" party.

"I have something for that," said Ianus, frowning slightly as he observed Farkas scratching his head for the third time in an hour.

"Huh?"

"Well, I do a lot of traveling myself in foreign places and it's unavoidable. Nothing to be shy about."

"What?"

Ianus sighed and dropped his tone, moving closing to Farkas. "Fleas and lice. I have decent smelling creams that stop the itching and can clean out bites to prevent infections. Also good for most spider and ant bites. Invaluable when camping in the wilderness or sleeping in unsavory tavern beddings. Pine scented or lemon and mint scented. Thin the cream in a touch of oil for hairier parts of the body."

"Ianus, Farkas, have you tried these delightful tidbits?" Revyn Sadri presented a tray of crackers. Each cracker had a dollop of some white stuff, a chunk of fish, and slivers of onion. "There's a bite of heat under the fish, a touch of some sort of radish paste imported from Summerset." Farkas sneezed at the smell of sulfur and that special after-heavy-rain scent.

"So, what thought you fellows of the results of today's Moot?" the dunmer looked only at the imperial. Farkas didn't mind being ignored. Amalie had told her sister and cousins what Farkas's head scratching signal meant. For other eyes, she said, and because Ianus would certainly know something was going on if she kept appearing every time Farkas had a head itch.

"Well, not being a nord myself or all that familiar with Skyrim laws, I found it fascinating the Stormcloaks referred to themselves as the 'Old Holds.' I take it that Skyrim at one time had a separation in the past?"

"Aye," said Farkas, recalling bits that Vilkas would mention from the history books he read during long journeys. "The old, original Holds of Ysgramor and his armies. The new Holds — Markarth, Whiterun, Morthal — came about after Ysgramor and his heirs officially declared themselves an empire. Nords pushed west and south and encountered the Alessians coming north over the Jeralls. Then the Direnni and Bretons pushing eastward. Falkreath used to have a king. The one Talos... Tiber Septim served when he was just starting out. Before he got ambitious, before he found he could Shout."

"In the Three Banner War it was the Old Holds of Skyrim that allied with Morrowind," said Sadri.

"Also the closest to Morrowind. Most of your people are found in the Old Holds," said Ianus. "An attraction to old allies besides geographical convenience?"

Farkas scratched behind his head.

"Hah! We snatched some Colovial Brandy! Anybody care for some?" Linwe and Karliah, arm in arm, held up decanters. Their story was that they were Sadri's trade partners visiting from Mournhold.

The altmer had altered his face and coloring since they'd first met. His hair and beard had been dyed to a dark brown and he wore his hair dunmer fashion in a high ponytail. His skin had been darkened to a pretty golden brown. But he was still distinctly altmer and the inevitable Thalmor representative hovering close by, all delicate, pale coloring and smooth, sharp idealized features, sneered at Linwe for being a low-class mongrel.

Linwe poured generous portions. "Oh, my. You seem terribly happy about something, Linwe," said Revyn, sipping.

"The best, the best. Just got word that some special imports from Summerset arrived to my contacts in Anvil. Crystalwood and gryphon crest feathers from Cloudrest."

"Amazing! Do you already have buyers? If there's a chance, I would be delighted to buy a feather or two."

"How did you get those?" asked Ianus. "Those are forbidden exports."

"Distant kin of kin. And some of the Cloudrest gryphon riders have found certain oils that can only be gotten in Morrowind helps with recent problems of gryphons laying eggs with too-fragile shells. Legal routes had too many taxes and political conditions. So some of the riders are willing to shop the black market for the oils, export trade restrictions be damned if it means saving their gryphons.

"The feathers are all spoken for, I'm afraid, but if a sale doesn't go through, you'll be the first one I contact," he assured Revyn.

"Wonderful. Thank you."

Ianus had a lot more questions. Farkas wasn't a trader, but he did think a true trader wouldn't be so free with details. He and Karliah were rapidly dropping names, places, routes and schedules. Ianus was strangely intent on every word. Sadri watched Ianus. The three mer were hunting in a way Farkas didn't understand and for prey Farkas couldn't clearly identify.

Then Ianus suddenly seemed confused. His expression, his wild, wide-eyed searching eyes of someone lost and in distress. Farkas hooked this thumbs in his belt, signaling that the strange scent event was over. Karliah coaxed Ianus away and towards the food table.

This was repeated twice through the evening. At the end of the party a tired Ianus was escorted to a room to rest and a guard put at his door. The girls gathered around to hear what Linwe and Revyn had to say.

"A mind-spy, a memory tracker spell," said Linwe. "Once the victim is in a compliant state, that spell can be placed. It records everything, and I mean everything — places you go, who you talk to, what they look like, what you see, smell, hear, eat, and where you took a sh-, relieved yourself. The subject is not aware of the spell. However, if left long enough, the mind can become too full of memories and that's when confusion sets in. Things you suddenly can't forget that play and replay in your mind and make it hard to think. Confusion, as I said, and needing long sleeping periods or just suddenly falling asleep in place. They may even begin talking in their sleep; repeating conversations like water seeping from an over-full jar.

"Ideally, the handler would retrieve their unwitting spy before such a breaking point and remove those memories to themselves or to an enforcer who would then go out and capture or destroy or subvert — whatever the Dominion desires. How do you think they found so many Blades, how they knew the secret signals and passwords, knew the bolt-holes and hidden bases? And not just Blades. Ignorant family members and friends, people whom the Blades had identified as lynchpins in government and commerce and defense.

"However, it takes at least an adept in mysticism to set that spell without driving the subject insane in a matter of hours. It was meant for research and teaching. In ethical use, the caster would gain the subject's permission and take care to place a time limit on the spell so that if the subject could not return in time before the spell became detrimental, the spell would fade and erase the burden of collected memories.

As he spoke, Sadri had begun scowling. Amalie nudged him. "Master Neloth used it on my wife when he needed to study briarhearts." A wry smile replaced his scowl. "Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. I wouldn't have been able to perform very well if I knew who else was in my bed."

"But he had her permission?" asked Linwe.

"Yes. I'll give him that. How do you know of this spell?"

"It's why I and my people had to flee Summerset. We were looking over street orphans for youngsters to take in and train. One was a bespelled tool. Soldiers stormed our hideout, but they didn't know the secondary emergency site that we don't tell the apprentices about until they've graduated in their training. There weren't many of us left. A person in the local justicier's office who owed me a big favor told me to leave the Isles. He told me about the memory track spell and that it was my bad luck that I'd taken in an asset. The boy was dead and the information of my group was now in the heads of several soldiers who were getting bonus pay for each thief they brought in.

"How do we de-spell Ianus?" asked Amalie. "Can any adept healer do this or does it need a master?"

"I'm not sure," said Linwe. "I know about the spell and I'm told it takes an adept or master to set one, likewise to extract. But, if it's been warped to be a spy tool, they would have made it so that a lesser skilled could trigger and retrieve. After all, who cares if the ignorant tool is left insane or dead; its usefulness is over."

"If Priestess Danica can't help him, I say drug him and get him to Winterhold. The masters there might be able to help. They do have a Telvanni master there doing dwemer research," said Revyn. "Although... Let me fetch Commander Mor. Perhaps one of his ex-temple healers might be able do something." He excused himself to look into that possibility.

Amalie and the girls huddled together to discuss future measures with Ianus. He had been with each of them at various times as they did business around Whiterun and in Dragonsreach. They weren't going to risk Ianus again mysteriously disappearing. Farkas could see each of them settling into battle mode, their eyes alert and searching, their body postures readying to fight. They each had poniards and he knew they'd all had knife combat training.

"Hey, Amalie?" She looked at him. "C'mere." But he went to her to hold her close. "I'm sorry. I hope we got to him in time."

"We wouldn't have known at all if you didn't insist something as wrong, sweetheart. Oh, damn." She cried against his shoulder. "I hope we can save him." She pulled back. "If there's one asset, then there's more about. I'd warn the Emperor, but then he'll involve the Penitus Oculatus, and if they know, the Thalmor will start waiving Concordat clauses and get involved.

"Dammit again. If it becomes known and that the Thalmor are doing this, it will wreck the Moot. The Stormcloaks will say it's a trick of the Thalmor-controlled Empire."

"Maybe. But why care if Revyn finds Commander Mor's healers can cancel the spell?" said Farkas, shrugging. "I'd say it's a draw.

"I'd also say tell Kodlak. This kind of magic is dishonorable and if we have the ability to stop it, we should."

She stared at him, astonished. "You're right. The Dominion will deny all claims of spies. The Companions still have respect on both sides so no one can accuse them of favoritism if they go on the hunt for spies and hold onto them until the politically neutral Dragonborn and Archimage of Winterhold College can break the spell on the spies. And for the hardliners who say the Companions and Dragonborn are still too much on the side of the Imperials, having the trusted dunmer steward of Windhelm and the incorruptible dunmer thane of the Rift involved should counter that. Also, that will be perfect cover for the Circle because people will naturally assume Revyn and Mor are doing the actual spell tracking."

She hugged him tight and pulled his head down for a sweet kiss. "Oh, you're a canny one, Farkas. I just love how you bite right to the heart of problems."

"Uh-huh. But nibbling on you is more fun." He took a deep breath with his nose buried in her hair on the top of her head then tilted her head up for another kiss.

* * *

 _ **GalacticHalfling**_ _:_ _Thanks about the Daggerfall books. Looked 'em up and now I have a whole new "library" to read. I can only conclude that that book series didn't survive the eras is because it was censored out of existance for being too irreverent and unbefitting the dignity of the gods. Seriously? Akatosh having a toothache after eating an adventurer? And his bardic friend Geoffrey?_

 _ **VST**_ _: Thanks!_


	61. Fishwives

_A/N: I know absolutely nothing about Maormer except what's in Skyrim's in-game books. Haven't played online and the one or two playthrough bits I've watched weren't that enlightening. If there's canon out there, I didn't find it (aside from browsing the "Imperial Library") so I'm going to do a lot of guessing. * Bleh. Five re-writes while_ Wet Dream, I Lobster And Never Flounder _, and_ She's In Love _keeps flushing 'round the ole brain coral._

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.

* * *

 **Fishwives**

The so-called fishing lodge was an earth house nearly obscured by the snowberry bushes on it. The house was surrounded by a fence of sorts of ropes and posts and reinforced by dense, thorny bushes. A path meandered down to the beach. Two rowboats were upside down in sturdy racks and another rack of held fish fillets and seaweed over a smoking pile of wood.

The door opened and the overwhelming effluvium of rot and piss wafted out.

+—+—+—+—+—+

The Archimage had finally arrived in Whiterun and the Jarls and the Emperor were ready to begin negotiations with the Archimage of Winterhold and the Harbinger of the Companions as neutral witnesses.

Revyn had to return to Windhelm after an unsatisfying quick glimpse of his beloved across the crowded hall of Dragonsreach. Jarl Ulfric's command enforced by a Stormcloak escort.

It was a blow to Ulfric's ego that the Imperials regarded his steward with more trepidation than himself. He had killed the High King and started a civil war. In general Imperial regard, the High King was just another jarl of a distant land. His steward, however, was whispered to have killed an Elder Councilor of the Empire.

The official story was that Sadri, acting as the marriage broker between his Felix cousin and Motierre, in the course of a routine investigation of Motierre's pedigree, had become suspicious of certain activities. He then lured the Elder Councilor Amaund Motierre into a conversation that revealed Motierre's alliance with the Dark Brotherhood to murder the Emperor. He had managed to hide witnesses so that Motierre felt free to make his boasts in front of them. Then realizing his indiscretion, he attacked Sadri. Legate Maro claimed responsibility for the summary execution of the professed traitor before he could kill the dunmer whose help had once again been invaluable in averting peril to Skyrim and to the Empire. The other witnesses, General Tullius, Thane Selrun of The Rift, and Whiterun Housecarl Irileth, backed the story and a Legion scriber provided a verbatim transcript of Sadri and Motierre's conversation.

Jarl Ulfric had read the transcript. He knew that it was far from the whole truth of events. However, getting the truth from Sadri was a luxury he would afford himself later. Sadri had given him information he needed to know now for this Moot to be successful.

Aside from Dragonsreach, the Honningbrew Meadery was the second most important place to be seen and the Felix/Sadri food, drink, and miscellaneous goods stands were raking in the septims. One would think Sadri would be content to sink back into his element of gossip and sales.

But no. He and Thane Selrun began hunting with the Companions for secret, bespelled spies. They were terrorizing the Imperial escort and taking soldiers, officers, servants, and courtiers. Then Sadri went beyond demoralizing the Imperials by pointing out two veterans among the Stormcloaks, a Whiterun soldier, a merchant from Solitude...

Much as it pleased Jarl Ulfric to see the thrice-cursed, sadistic, supercilious bitch Ambassador near incoherent with rage as she tried to deflect accusations away from the Dominion, it was best to send Sadri home. Thane Selrun could handle the spy tracking. Besides, there was an elf problem in Windhelm that only Sadri could handle.

+—+—+—+—+—+

Elani's frown at seeing Jorlief and Stormcloaks walking into her Community Hall office alongside Revyn was adequate expression of her feelings. "There wasn't any need to tell you," she argued to Jorlief. "This wasn't a matter of Windhelm security, it is a family matter. Revyn needed to come home to deal with it and I knew he had to have Jarl Ulfric's permission. I sent word directly to the Jarl because I knew that even if I could convince you that it was urgent, you still might delay for fear of interrupting the Moot."

"And what is the urgent family matter that is so important?" demanded Jorlief.

She rolled her eyes. "If you must know, it's Revyn's brother-in-law, Taliesin. His three mistresses have come looking for him and they're all three powerful and pregnant and pissed off witches. Do you want to know more?"

"Hah. Alright, I can see that would be a delicate situation. But why should Revyn handle this?"

"Because that fool of a bardic wizard is still on the run. So..." She shrugged and smirked at Revyn.

Jorlief snorted and clapped Revyn on the back. "Good luck. Try not to get killed." He left and took the Stormcloaks with him. Revyn shut the office door after them.

"So that's the official story. What did you leave out?" he asked.

"They're maormer and while they're not pregnant they do each have a half-dunmer child. The girls and their families weren't the kind to kill their babes to save their own lives so they hid the children for as long as they could while making escape plans. Once the children passed three years the mothers gambled that the babes were strong enough to endure the trials of a long sea voyage. They were aiming for Windhelm but got lost.

"They had originally missed our city while swimming along the coast and ended up in Winterhold. They asked directions from the people on the Breakwater project that they found in a stone bubble who then directed them to our argonian friends who had moved to Winterhold to dig up the old city. However, their knowledge of Imperial is rudimentary so Shavee took a chance and traveled with them. She guided them to Refugees' Rest and Caretaker Elmon sheltered them and kept them hidden until Ambarys and I could find a better place.

"You may thank Dana for her solution. Her family has a piece of coastal property an ancestor built a private retreat on. It's a day north by horse. The girls are being well looked after by people Ambarys and I have personally selected and they're protected by Wuunferth." She laughed at Revyn's expression. "He didn't take much persuading to take the opportunity of getting to know maormer and their magic. So as far as anyone here or in her family is concerned, Great Uncle Wuunferth is temporarily living at the family property and he's hired dunmer staff because they aren't as fussy and fearful about magic as nord servants would be. Anything strange seen or heard there can then be attributed to Wuunferth practicing his craft."

"Neatly done," said Revyn. "Although, I dread to know why they were trying to reach Windhelm at all."

"Looking for you, my dear Revyn."

"Oh, no."

"Likely the Felixes are being too closely watched and they think you have a better chance to keeping the family secrets safe."

"I'm not too sure of that. Didn't dear Ardeth warn that the Dominion now think I'm more dangerous than my wife? If they can't get me, they'll certainly go after you or Ambarys or, gods forbid, Savela. First rule of war, take out your enemy's support system."

"First rule of espionage," Elani countered with a hard smile, "is not to trigger your enemy's support system."

Well, fascinating as all this was, Revyn stayed the next couple of days in town tending to office matters before traveling with Elani to the Frostburn fishing lodge along with the resupply cart and a change of guards.

Wuunferth was sitting on a bench by the door and drinking from a bottle. Revyn's steps faltered as he drew near. The man smelled like a mammoth had pissed on him. "Just in time for dinner. Rewarmed leftovers from lunch, sad to say." He made a gesture. The door opened and an overwhelming effluvium wafted out.

"Rotted shark," said Revyn, despairingly.

"Well guessed, chum. The ladies and kids love it stewed with fermented cabbage. You brought the extra kegs of dark ale? Good. Start drinking now. Don't worry about getting drunk. Once the meat hits your belly, you'll sober up soon enough or you'll spew."

Elani claimed a delicate stomach and stayed outside with the guards while Revyn whimpered, wiped at his watering eyes, and entered the barrow house.

+—+—+—+—+—+

The few books Revyn had seen that mentioned Maormer — the sea elves or fish elves and a calling about as flattering as dark elves for Dunmer — described the Maormer as having white eyes with no discernable pupils, pale flesh with a look of dense, rippled jelly that he could well believe would make them practically invisible in water.

The children's flesh lacked their mothers' characteristic for now. Hopefully, that would develop as they got older. Their half-dunmer heritage was most evident in their red sclera and iris around white pupils and their little ears that had tiny lobes and the ear tips sweeping back into a telltale dunmer shape, different from their parents' ears which shared the altmer lobeless, upright shape.

Cherrun spoke for the trio. Only she had had some limited exposure to the outside world. She spoke very basic Altmer and rudimentary Imperial. The other two were ignorant of the world outside the mist like the majority of Pyandonea's citizens. Her daughter, sitting comfortably in Revyn's lap, was Tysy who was trying to feed him the leg of a deep fried and spiced rock beetle from southern Morrowind. Pirrel's Hodah and Zyrrah's Inwin sat on the floor in the center of the circle of adults mouthing the large beetles as if teething on candy.

Revyn's lips plucked the beetle leg from Tysy's grasp and, with a leg still sticking out the corner of his mouth, went back to delicately lip nibble on her tiny fingers causing her to giggle. She ducked her head and rubbed against his cheek. He gently blew, ruffling her fine, white hair.

"They like your Ancestors," commented Elani as the boys, Inwin and Hodah, crawled over to haul themselves to their feet by grasping and pulling on the hem of Revyn's housecoat. Elani scooted over on the padded bench and lifted one boy to sit between them and the other onto her lap. The boys, like Tysy, made grabs at Revyn's Ancestor necklace.

"Antony Felix, rather," he said, "and through him the rest of House Felix. The Ra'athim and Hlaalu give cautious welcome and my Velothi kin reject, but are not actively hostile. I'll try talking to them later." He carefully unwrapped Tysy's fist from around Antony, his late father-in-law's bone token. He looked up as Cherrun loomed over him. She had a frown as she reclaimed her daughter. She said something to Mathak Indathri, one of the two language tutors here and today's interpreter.

"She asks why you wear charms of attraction, if for personal allure or for sales advantage."

"Do Maormer practice ancestor worship? These Ancestors," he was careful to touch only the Felix tokens (Antony and two of his Colovia kin sent by the Felixes), "are happy to meet their newest descendants."

Mathak explained this custom of death mementos practiced by some of the Velothi clans. It was a lengthy trial of Mathak explaining to Cherrun who then attempted to translate what she understood to Pirrel and Zyronne, who also took back their sons to hold close. Some of the Maormer practiced the old ways of ancestral worship; they were among them. For the rest, Orgnum was both king and god. While they had their doubts of Orgnum's divinity, there was no question of his power to make miserable their lives if they came to his notice. So for the sake of their families they had to leave.

"Ah. Well, do assure them that Taliesin's ancestors recognize and accept their children."

Speaking of which, this would require another special messenger to his mother-in-law, General Innana Faro. She and her late husband had sent Taliesin on that mission. He had not yet heard back from her what her plans were for the altmer cousin that had followed him back from Markarth.

But these ladies, at least, had had the foresight to bring a fair amount of wealth with them. Two small chests of pearls of excellent size and colors, of nacre shells from white to black to glorious rainbows, of uncut agates, aquamarines, carnelians, citrines, and emeralds. Two large chests of bolts of fishscale armor cloth, spices, wines, perfumes, alchemy ingredients. Most of which could only come from Pyandonea and that would have to be sold very carefully to minimize questions. Sadri suspected they had more that was prudently stashed deep underwater.

How did they get here? Surely not by swimming or by boat. A great sea serpent as their kind was reputed to be able to control? No, by shark. Thankfully, not the one they'd been eating. Revyn had trouble imaging how large a shark it had to have been to transport six passengers and their luggage across half the world. Cherrun's magic as an enchanter of the Maormer Navy.

Pirrel, he could tell, was the business minded one by the way she watched him as he inspected the chests. She closely inspected his notes as he made them. Not that she could read them, but he knew she was looking at patterns in the marks he made, recognizing numbers from other letterforms.

Zyronne was warrior of the trio. Well, perhaps not a warrior but certainly one who's livelihood required constant, heavy physical activity. "Fishing and diving," said Wuunferth. "She's the one who catches all the fish we've been having. She bounces around on a boat like a bosmer across tree limbs."

"But should she be out on a boat? What if she's seen?" asked Revyn.

Wuunferth grinned. "On the days she goes out, it so happens those are the days it's suddenly very foggy on this section of the coast."

+—+—+—+—+—+

"You usually don't drink so early in the day," said Elani, dropping into the chair at his right.

"General Faro finally replied." He gave the paper to Elani. She read, "New blood will have to stay with you. Researching strategies for future rescue operation. Alert: new packages coming your way by sea for safekeeping."

"It actually was sent around three weeks ago," Revyn said, "but what with all the assassination excitement and high security around the Moot, the messenger, a footsoldier, couldn't get it to me in a timely manner because of all the sudden shifts in his troop reassignments and tightened security. He couldn't find a way to leave his post long enough to make the delivery. So first chance he got to get to Whiterun and finding I'd already left, he gambled on passing the message to Nicky instead who personally delivered it this morning."

"I see. So the girls remain your responsibility." She was careful to not let her internal grin reach outside to her lips.

It didn't work because he narrowed his eyes at her and demanded, "I know you're laughing. What is so funny?"

"Your newest venture. Sadri's Used Wares and Fishmongers," she said, grinning.

* * *

 _ **The Writer Of Lucifenia:**_ _Not a dumb question. Someone's finally called me on it. I'd also read in the UESP pages that her character was originally scripted to be Sings-of-Dreams until the "no-lizards inside the city" rule was put in place (although in recent SE game updates I now see Marshes hanging out in the Cornerclub) and so she was changed to be a dunmer and Sadri's sister. She still spends her evenings in the Argonian Assemblage however. I tend to forget about her since I've never bothered to interact with her. But she (and her creepy "I'm the only friend you need") does occasionally flit about to remind me she exists. I haven't yet figured how or if I'm going to bring her in, explain why she's been missing for so long, why Revyn's never mentioned her, and her apparent affinity for argonians._

 _ **Vahditar:**_ _Thanks for the comments. Feedback always welcome._


End file.
